


Possession

by Nuggalolisk



Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Ballet, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, Demonic Possession, Demons, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horror, I mean eventually after they're done fucking up, Possession, Religious Connotations, Romance, Violence, who am i kidding they'll never be done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuggalolisk/pseuds/Nuggalolisk
Summary: Mona leads a relatively normal life: she's happy, has her dream job, has good friends. Until one fateful day, a storm of the century hit in the form of a child, and it changes Mona's life for good. She survived the attack, but now can she live with what she's become? Can she accept it? Will she rise to her great destiny? Mona's fight against herself and evil has only begun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone would like a list of songs I write each chapter to, let me know. I thought about including them since music is such a big part of how I write. Anyways, I know a lot of people on ff wanted me to finish this story. So I think I'm going to. I'm rewriting the chapters I have already before I add anything new on. As always, comments and kudos give me life. 
> 
> C

* * *

 

            Mona wipes her brow with the back of her head, clearing up some of the dripping sweat. Rehearsal was excruciating work– then again, it always is. She lowers herself to sit on the practice room floor with the other dancers and begins to take off her pointe shoes. Others leaned against the walls and untie the ribbons around their ankles. Mona’s feet ache as they always do after rehearsal. An Epsom salt soak is in her very near future. A young brunette bounds over like a graceful gazelle and deposits herself next to Mona. She smiles at the girl and keeps taking off her shoes.

            “Are you auditioning for Sleeping Beauty?” Clara asks.

            Mona nods. “I’ve seriously thought about it. I think I’ll try for the lead… Are you?”

            Clara has been Moan’s longtime competition and friend. The two have trained together since they were in middle school. Mona had been dancing since she was four, Clara since she was six. They competed for boyfriends, roles, grades, scholarships, and through all of it, they remained friends. Yet, she found her long-time friend’s expression was difficult to read.

            The brunette leans in closely. “I’ve been practicing for Aurora since I found out, two months ago, that we would be showing it.” The smile on her round face was full of smugness.

            “Months? They only just announced it, Clara.”

            Clara rubs her newly released foot and smiles like the cat who got into the cream. “That’s what being  _friends_ with the director gets you. Early information.” She winks at her dark-skinned friend.

            “Just what exactly do you mean by  _friends_?”

            “What do you think?” Clara laughs and stands up so she can sashay from the room.

            She should know never to put it past Clara to do  _anything_ to get ahead. With a grumble, she slips her socks and shoes on. Her feet will kill her tomorrow if she doesn’t get them soaked tonight and it’s already approaching ten. As usual, Mona is the last one out of the studio. She hates walking home alone, especially when it was dark out. She exits the practice room into the lobby of the old theater. The velvet carpet looks as new as the day they put it in. The lights were dimmed, turning the windows into a two-way mirror.

            The instant she steps outside she regrets not bringing her umbrella. The gray clouds tinted orange by the city lights spoke of rain.  _It would have been nice had the weather report mentioned that._ The wind whips her black relaxed hair out of her bun and around her face harshly. In the course of the day, the temperature has dropped nearly twenty degrees and the wind chills her dark skin. The clouds above her swirl violently, threatening to drop rain on her at any moment.

             _I should have worn a trench coat._

            The sky above her booms and she jumps in surprise. On any other day, Mona loves storms. They calm her. Something about the rolling clouds, the thunder that shakes her chest, settles her. But this one. This one feels different. It’s almost as if there’s some sort of electrical charge in the air. She doesn’t like it. Her gaze follows the abandoned street up and down, checking for stragglers before she places her headphones in. I Vampiri leads in softly with steady drum beats and she hurriedly starts walking home. The next bout of thunder rumbles through her chest and even under her feet. She pulls out one headphone and starts to take the shortcut home. It leads through an alley behind warehouses, but it was quick.

            “Fuck,” she sighs exasperatedly when she feels the first drop of rain smack her forehead. “And there goes my hair.”

            Mona quickens her steps and buries her iPod deeper into her pocket. Crying. She stops in the middle of the cobblestone alley and listens. The song goes quiet for a moment, and she still hears nothing.

            “Hello?”  _Oh, great Mona. You’re like that dumb white girl in a horror movie. Just draw attention to yourself, that’s fine._

            She starts off again, her steps quickening. The mouth of the alley gets further and further behind her. She stops again. Something feels off. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up like nazis raising their hands to Hitler.  _Just keep walking. You’re already in. Just keep going. It’s the quickest way home._

            It isn’t until she’s halfway through the alley that she hears the crying again, louder this time. Garbage cans rattle behind her and she spins, reaching for the pepper spray inside her bag. There, behind the cans, a young girl stands crying into the sieve of her hands. She has blonde hair that curls at the end where it isn’t plastered to her skull. Her bright pink cheeks against pale skin make her look like some kind of china doll.

            “Jesus, kid!” Mona takes her hand out of her bag and stands up straighter.

            “I can’t find my mom,” she cries and rubs her face with balled up fists.

            Mona takes a step towards her. “What are you doing down here? It’s dangerous for you to be out here alone.” She can’t be more than seven. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the police station.” She reaches her hand out to her and the blonde looks at her skeptically. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to take you to the police so they can help you find your mom.” After a few minutes of silence and the girl staring at her, Mona speaks again. “My name’s Mona. What’s yours?”

            “Patricia.”

            “Hello, Patricia. It’s nice to meet you. Let’s get out of the rain, okay? The station is just two blocks over there and they’ll help us.”

            Patricia takes her hand and lets Mona start to lead her out of the alley. On a list of things she wanted to do today, helping a creepy kid in the middle of a thunderstorm, was not on it. Abruptly, Mona is jerked to a halt. She turns around and looks at the little girl, a scream lodging in her tight throat.

            Blood.

            Patricia is covered in it: it sticks to her blonde hair, it runs over her arms and legs, it stains her blue dress. Her once dull teeth are sharp points like a shark’s teeth and poke out between cracked lips. Her nails have grown four inches and taper off as jagged points. Blue eyes have turned completely black. The little girl’s talons thrust sharply into Mona’s arm. Blood spills from the deep gaping wounds and onto the pavement in steady streams. Mona screams and desperately tries to pry Patricia’s hand off of her arm.

            “I’m bringing home a baby bumblebee, won’t my mommy be so proud of me.”

            She jerks Mona’s arm, pulling her violently until she falls to the stone.

            “I’m bringing home a baby bumblebee, won’t my mommy be so proud of me.” One of Mona’s fingers snaps under the pressure and she screams. “Ouch! She stung me!”

            She continues to drag her further and further into the alley.

             _Fight!_

            Mona spins herself around on her butt, leggings ripping as she turns. She kicks at Patricia’s leg over and over again. She nearly vomits when on the seventh or eighth hit to the child’s leg, a bone breaks out of the skin. Patricia doesn’t even seem to notice and continues to drag her down the alley, her stride now distorted.

            “I’m squishing up my baby bumblebee, won’t my mommy be so proud of me.”

            With strength she clearly should not possess, Patricia squeezes Mona’s hand tighter until she can feel a bone crack in her wrist. The black girl’s scream is lost to the thunder.

            “I’m squishing up my baby bumblebee, ew! What a mess!”

            Despite Mona’s thrashing, her screaming, her kicking, and hitting with her free hand, she continues to be pulled down the alley. There’s no one to help her. She tries desperately, again and again, to pry the girl’s hand away. Tears roll from amber eyes as the pain continues to rip through her arm. She gets twisted around again, her arm stretched over her head, the nails ripping more and more. The mouth of the alley can no longer be seen through the rain pouring down on them. She’s going to die. Ripped apart by a child of all things. She’s being drug up steps. Her head smacks into one with a sickening crack.

            When she opens her eyes again her feet are crossing the threshold of the building. The heavy metal doors slam shut, muffling the sound of rain and plunging them into darkness. She’s lifted. The back of her ankles graze the floor before she is thrown, her body smacking into a cement pillar. The floor is a welcome feeling when she falls down to it. Mona tries to stand, to move, to blink, but every muscle in her body screams with pain when she moves.

            Candles flair to life around them.

            Patricia stands in front of her, slowly crossing the space between them.

            “I’m licking up my baby bumblebee, won’t my mama be so proud of me,” she sings as she licks the blood from her nails. Mona’s blood. “Ich! I feel sick.” She giggles when Mona moans in pain, flinching away from her approaching form. “You’re for my mama,” she tells her happily.

            What was once a little girl chants slowly and sadistically. The words fill Mona’s ears like slime. The hair stands up on the back of her neck. Her muscles are so tense a single touch might shatter them. It’s hard to tell what part of her is causing the pain when all of her hurts. In all her years of suffering for dance, her body has never hurt this badly. Every fiber of her being tells her to run, but her legs won’t move and her head won’t clear. Her neurons fire faster than ever before, but the signal is lost in translation.

            Bloody symbols on the wall start to change and swirl, twisting and curling until they aren’t recognizable. Patricia starts to float inches off of the floor, her toes point sharply to the ground, arms stretched out like Jesus on the cross. She tips her head back so she looks at the ceiling. Whatever language she’s speaking comes faster and faster. Hurried whispers that light Mona on fire. Slowly, starting in the middle of her hands, holes appear. They widen and gape open until all of her palm is a black hole.

            Mona’s stomach churns violently. She tries to scream when two eyes appear in the holes of Patricia’s hands, but her throat feels like she’s got thick vomit in it. It’s getting harder and harder for her to breathe, to scream. Desperately looking around the room for a means of escape or anything that will help her, she realizes she’s about to die. The smell of rotting meat fills her nose and her mouth. It makes the urge to vomit worse. A low rumble starts to fill her ears. The louder it gets the more it starts to rattle her bones. It’s coming from beneath her. She’s losing too much blood. It pools around her and then seeps into the cracks when the floor starts to break open.

             _Do people even have this much blood?_

            Burning. On her back, her hip, her stomach. The more she breathes the worse it gets.

            An image of her grandmother coming to visit her comes to her like a mirage. It’s winter and the snow falls like soft cotton from the sky. Mona sits on the screened-in front porch, a small wood stove burning next to her. She’s watching the snow fall when her grandmother walks from out of the woods, no snow covering her. She makes her way across the earth, holding her hands out to catch the frozen drops. She comes in, crossing the distance from the woods to the house in seconds. The old woman smiles, touching Mona’s hair gently.

            “You have a great destiny before you, Mona,” she whispers in her ear after she kisses her cheek.

            Mona smiles at the memory, briefly allowing herself to be lost in it. She turns her head, looking at her outstretched hand dangling over a crack in the cement. There, in the center of her palm, is a snowflake.

            Patricia’s voice changes into a gravelly whisper that sounds like a chain smoker. Soon after, what seems like a thousand other voices join in with her chanting. A horrendous ringing fills her ears until she can’t hear the echo of her own heartbeat. She flips onto her back and her body stiffens like a shirt with too much starch. Her muscles ache with the tightening and strain of holding them so still. All she wants is it to stop, she would give anything.

            The ballerina lets another scream rip its way out of her throat and into the room. Her lungs burn and she realizes she’s been holding her breath. The inside of her mouth feels dry and tastes strongly of blood. Her head slams back into the cement floor, sending pinpoints of light swirling in front of her eyes. Is it minutes, or seconds?  She can’t tell: time has either slowed or sped up and she isn’t sure which. Something wet is oozing out of her ears. Her heart beats fast and wild against her chest cavity. She pictures a cell exploding from too much saline.

            All around her debris floats and crashes down from the ceiling. The smell of heat, blood, rotting meat, and decomposition fills her nose. Each breath in, each blink, each beat of her heart is hard fought. This is it. She’s going to die slowly and painfully in a collapsing warehouse. It’s only a matter of seconds now, she’s sure of it. Almost. Warm, floating, pain-free bliss. She’s screaming. It’s not her voice. It’s raspier, more of a shriek than it normally is. Her bones feel like they’re snapping and reshaping inside her body, her muscles feel torn and sliced. She starts to spasm, her rigid body smacking against the floor.

             _Give yourself to me. Let yourself go. Stop fighting me. It will be so much easier if you stop resisting._ The voice in her head is dark and twisted. Full of unspoken nightmares.  _You’ll love the power you’ll have with me. People will bow at your feet like dogs._

            She clenches her jaw so tightly it feels like it’s going to break with the pressure.

             _You’ll be worshiped as a goddess. Don’t you want that? To have that little bitch Clara worship the ground your very feet walk on? Wouldn’t it feel amazing to have everything you have ever dreamed of wanting handed to you on a golden platter?_

            She screams. “No! No! No!” Her throat aches and bleeds.

             _You stupid little bitch!_

            It feels like someone is carving into her back and stomach. She screams until she can’t scream anymore. Her muscles keep contracting until her back is bowed off of the floor. The back of her heels and her head are the only things touching the floor. Mona’s head swirls with pain and fear. Her throat starts to swell shut and her panic rises. She struggles to recite the Lord’s Prayer in her head.  _How does it start? What are the first two words?_

            “T-the L–” she can’t say it. “Th­–the L–Lord,” her voice cracks and whispers despite the strong protest from her throat and lungs to stop. Her throat clamps shut before she can start to think of the next word.

            Mona’s body slams harshly back into the floor, her head pounding and throbbing with every pump of her blood. She tries to scream louder, but her voice is hoarse, nearly gone. Something claws at the back of her subconscious like a rat trying to eat its way through her skull. The urge to lie back and let herself go is overwhelming.

_Go where?_

             _Give it up, Mona!_ The voice croons softly in her head.  _Just let it go. You can stop the pain. Just give in to me. Let me make you a goddess._

            She can’t speak, she can’t even shake her head. Tears stream down her face and she shakes uncontrollably.

_Make it stop._

            “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” a deep amused male voice asks from somewhere in the room.

            Mona fights to turn her head. He’s standing in the doorway.  _Help me. Help me. Help me._ A thousand voices scream viciously and Patricia hisses and lunges towards him. Her lithe body flies through the air before she slams into his chest. The pair flies out of the door and Mona’s body smacks back down to the floor. There’s a loud crash and the clinking of bricks.  _Please. Please. Please._ Patricia storms back in and Mona sobs at the sight. She’s killed him. Her only hope.

            The little girl picks Mona up by the throat, her nails digging into the skin there. Patricia starts chanting again, eyes becoming narrow slits. The older girl looks down at her. She wants to lift her arms, to grip at the hand on her throat. She can’t breathe. Her surroundings focus and un-focus with the lack of oxygen. Drums thunder in her ears.

            Something slams into the back of Patricia’s head, breaking her focus. Mona drops to the floor in a heap as she turns to face the attacker.

            “That,” he wipes dust from his shoulders, “was very rude. Literally throwing my ass out into the rain.” He wipes blood from his lip. “It’s not very becoming of a young lady. Didn’t your mother teach you better?”

            Patricia lunges at him again, swinging her claws in front of her. He raises his arms. Guns.

            “Someone needs a timeout.”

            The gunshots echo loudly in the empty space of the warehouse. Patricia drops before she even reaches him. Quickly, he steps over the body and runs to Mona. His gaze flashes to the letters on the wall, swirling faster and faster around the room. He curses loudly as a hole starts to gape open in the center of the room.

            “Because this is exactly what I wanted to do today,” he mutters when he picks up Mona.

            She lets out a hoarse scream from the jostling. When he starts running, she nearly blacks out. The outside world is in sight and she can feel the breeze from the storm when something hits the man in the back. They both careen a few feet before he lands on top of her. She opens her mouth in a scream, but nothing comes out. Slowly, he stands up, leaving her on the wet pavement. He cracks his neck to the right and turns around.

            “You can’t stop this,  _Dante_! She’s already been chosen! She will be the end of you and your puny little existence.” Patricia’s body looks at you as it rises. “Mother has specifically chosen her.”

            Mona’s body tenses again and she forces the scream out. It burns, it hurts. She blinks through the rain pouring down her face. Without so much as a twitch, the man called Dante draws a sword from his back and swings it in front of him. Patricia cackles maniacally at his miss. Instead of disappointment crossing his features, a sly smile takes up residence on his lips. Patricia falls in to separate pieces onto the pavement. Mona’s body finally relaxes.

            The ground starts to rumble and shake, the warehouse throwing bricks and broken glass down on them. Dante rushes back to her and scoops her up swiftly, cradling her against his chest. The last thing Mona sees before she passes out is the entire building sucked into nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

            An annoyingly bright ray of light forces its way into the dark and dingy room Mona is sleeping in. Her eyes force themselves open and the unforgiving light burns them harshly before she allows them to slowly look around the room, taking in her surroundings. The room is dark and messy, books and magazines are stacked haphazardly around the area. An inch of dust seems to cover everything, and cobwebs dangle down from the ceiling.  The sound of her wheezing fills her ears and other than that, the room is silent. Weakly, Mona tries to sit up: that’s when she notices the immense pains all throughout her body. Her head feels like it was hit by a semi, her ribs feel broken and bruised, and her throat tastes of blood and is extremely raw, even her hair hurts.

            “You should be sleeping,” a man says quietly as he crosses the room to decapitate the ray of light.

            Mona jumps and whimpers. She tries to ask him who he is, to move away, but nothing seems to want to work for her.

            “You overworked your vocal cords. I heard you screaming six blocks away. I’m shocked the cops weren’t called.” He pulls a chair up to the side of the bed and sits backward on it. “I’m Dante, your savior. No need to thank me, all part of the job description.” He smiles perfect teeth at her. “Saving pretty dames that is. I hope you don’t mind I took a look through the bag I found with you. Your name is Mona?” She nods and he continues. “I also took twenty bucks to buy a pizza. That’s payment enough for saving you. Trish is bringing you things from your apartment.”

            The younger woman surveys him openly, only slightly annoyed at him rifling through her things. She’s never seen a man with silver hair or eyes quite that blue before. He catches her gaze and smirks when she blushes. One could hardly blame her. Dante is an exceptionally attractive man: strong jaw, gorgeous cheekbones, sexy stubble, not to mention the bedroom eyes currently making love to her.

            “I know. I’m irresistible, but try to focus. You won’t be going back to your apartment for a while,” he explains slowly.

            She gives him a ‘no shit’ face and winces.

            He chuckles. “You won’t be making faces without pain for a while. You won’t be moving much for a while either.” Dante reaches beside himself and picks up two pills from the nightstand. “Here. Take these. They’re vicoden. I would give you Tylenol, but you need something stronger.”

            Without question, she takes the pills from him and puts them in her mouth. She takes a glass from his outstretched and swallows. Her throat feels tight when she swallows and all she can taste is blood.

            “You should stay in bed for a while. You went through a lot.” He takes the glass from her and deposits it back on the stand. “Honestly, I’m surprised you–” Dante trails off when he sees she’s sunk back down into the pillows, her eyes closed in a peaceful sleep. He smiles, pulls the blankets up around her shoulders, and takes a seat on the unfortunate chair again.

**~**

            _Mona is slammed harshly against the wall of a dark cave. She turns her head sharply to the side, heck straining from the extension of it. A woman with pitch-black skin leans in close to her, their lips almost touching. Her breath feels scalding against Mona’s soft skin. Oddly, despite her expectations, it smells sweet: lilacs, chocolate, mint, boiling sugar, and caramel._

 _“You stupid little worm. Do you really think that_ he _can keep you from me?” Her eerie laugh echoes throughout the empty space around them. “Please. He’s not even a pawn in this chess game I’ve started. You have no one to protect you.” She wraps long fingers around Mona’s neck. “I will squash Dante like a bug. Under. My. Heel.” Each word is accentuated by her tightening the grip she has on Mona’s throat._

_She turns Mona’s head back so she’s forced to look at her: eyes completely white settled close to cheekbones that jut out sharply. They looked like they could cut Mona if she tried to touch them. Her lips are thin so chapped they’re covered with deep cracks. Her long nails dig into the side of Mona’s neck. She screams as blood splatters her face._

**_~_ **

            “Mona! Mona, wake up!”

            Brown eyes jerk open. She’s screaming loudly into a dark bedroom that isn’t her own. Dante is leaning over her, his hands cupping the sides of her face. Her hands clutch at his wrists, letting her nails dig into his skin. Her ribs burn with every breath she takes in and exhales.

            “Jesus, baby, you’re going to get the cops called on us.” He strokes her cheek with his right hand and brushes her hair back out of her face. “It was just a dream. No one would try and hurt you here. They’d have to be an idiot.”

            Mona swallows and keeps her grip on his wrists. “She–she said,” the words are hoarse when they come out of her throat.

            The white man above her narrows his eyes in concentration. “Who said?” When Mona tries and fails to speak he continues. “Sweets it was a dream. Nothing more than a dream. Try and calm down, okay?”

            “What did you do to her?” Another man asks as he walks into the room.

            He has the same silver hair as Dante, the same eye color as well only brighter. He looks to be a little shorter than Dante, not as broad in the shoulders. The longer Mona looks at him, the blurrier her vision gets. Slowly and sleepily her eyes travel down his body, taking him in. She pauses at his right arm, knowing something is off, but not what.

            “I did nothing to her. She had a nightmare and woke up screaming.” He brushed more hair out of her face. “It’s really not that strange since some demonic little shit tried to kill her. I think a freak out is expected.”

            The boy sees Mona looking at him with confusion. “My name is Nero. I’m an acquaintance of Dante’s.”

            “Mona,” she whispers hoarsely.

            Nero grimaces.

            Dante whistles and leaves back from her. “Damn, baby. You sound like a sixty-year-old woman who’s been smoking all her life. Hold on and I’ll go get something for it.” He stands up out of his seat and waltzes past Nero, closing the door softly behind him.

            After a few moments, Nero sits down in the chair Dante was just occupying. His gaze is sympathetic. He sits there quietly for a few moments, letting Mona look at him before he finally speaks to her.

            “Trish got back with your things… I can bring them to you if you wish.”

            Mona nods her head and winces. “How long have I been out?” The pain accompanying speaking is enough to make her want to vomit.

            “Three days. Wait,” he interrupts, “don’t talk again.” He gets up from his seat and walks over to an end table in the corner. He picks up a yellow legal pad and an old pen that may or may not work. “Use this.”

            Mona takes the pad and rests it against the splint on her left arm. _What exactly happened? And who put the cast on me? Have I been to a hospital?_

Nero reads the sentence aloud and scratches the back of his head. Finally, he tries to explain what happened. “You were attacked, but I think you knew that. Basically, you pulled a stupid move, didn’t listen to your instincts, and nearly got yourself made into a demonic vessel. As for the hospital, no. Dante had an old client that’s a doctor who owed him a favor. Snuck you into his small practice and cleaned you up.”

            She stares at him blankly in shock. He has to be crazy. And yet, if he is, that surely means that she is too. Mona can’t deny what she saw, what happened to her. Especially not when she stares down at her hand and blanches at the bloody bandages on her arms. She can feel Nero watching her face carefully, trying to see how she’s going to process it. It could all have been a hallucination. Maybe Dante had orchestrated all of it. He could have grabbed her outside the studio and given her something. She swallows hard and looks back to Nero.

            “You’re not going to deny all this happened, or go insane, are you?”

            He waits patiently as she writes out her response.

            _No? I’m just– I honestly didn’t think those things were real. I just thought that they were something the religious nuts made up to get you to go to church like a good little believer. I’m not really sure if I’m an atheist anymore._

“I get it. Has to be a bit… much for you. I assume Dante has told you that you’ll be here until we can figure out why it wanted you specifically.”

            Mona holds up her pad of paper, interrupting his explanation.

_I had a dream about her._

            “Her? Her who?” There’s a confused look on his face as he reads her script.

            _The,_ she hesitates to write the word, _Demon. I guess you could call her that. Dante did. In the first dream, she told me that Dante couldn’t stop her. She said she would squash him like a bug. The second dream I had of her, she told me her name was Matrem. She also said that no one could keep me from her. I know you’re not supposed to be able to feel pain in your dreams. I did. When she was hurting me, I felt it. I could FEEL her in my head._

            Nero frowns and narrows his eyes when he finishes reading. Before he can open his mouth to ask more questions, to confirm his fear, Dante walks in the room. The younger man stands, grabs a smiling Dante by the collar, and drags him out of the room. The door slams quietly behind them. In the dingy hall, he pushes Dante slightly away from him.

            “Why did you save her?” Nero doesn’t bother to keep his voice down.

            “Uh,” Dante straightens his jacket, “why wouldn’t I have? I saved her so Susie Sunshine wouldn’t redecorate the place with her blood. Seemed like a pretty solid idea. What’s your damage?” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall opposite the pain in his ass.

            “She’s dreaming about her, old man,” Nero spits out. “The ‘Matrem’ demon has a connection with her now. And where exactly do you think this girl is going to lead her, Dante?” He waits a few moments and when Dante doesn’t make a move to say anything, he speaks. “ _Here_.”

            Dante smiles brightly and stands back up away from the wall. “I hate having to go looking for trouble. It’s so much easier when it’s delivered.” He sighed and rolled his eyes when Nero glared harder. “Calm your tits: the bitch isn’t coming back. I killed demonic Shirley Temple, remember?” Dante pats Nero’s shoulder and heads back towards Nero’s room.

            “It knows your name, Dante.” Nero looks sideways at Dante, hoping the information will shock him into some kind of action or preventative measures.

            “Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that,” Dante says as he shuts Mona’s door behind him.

            “You knew?” Nero yelled loudly as he turned to face the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry it took so long. I've been working on NaNoWriMo and I haven't thought about updating this since I started.

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            A few days later, a woman with long blonde hair and wearing all black opens the door to Mona’s room. The darker woman sits up slowly, propping herself up on her elbows. She eyes the blonde suspiciously as she approaches. When she gets closer, Mona notices how much muscle definition she has. She has the body to be a dancer.

            “My name is Trish,” she says as she brings a few bags further into the room. “I believe Dante told you that I was getting your things?”

            Taking advantage of finally being able to make small movements, Mona nods her head. Trish drops the few black duffle bags beside the dresser and then motions to the chair in the corner. When Mona nods her head again, she sits down and crosses her legs as she sits.

            “You look like you’re feeling a little better. I popped in on you a few days after they brought you here. You looked like death. Still kind of do.”

            Mona gives a weak smile since she can’t yet laugh. There isn’t a doubt in her foggy mind that she looks terrible. She certainly still feels like death. It was bad enough that a few times she has caught Dante or Nero looking at her like she’s a pitiful dying kitten.

 _I feel like death,_ Mona writes on her paper.

            “Still can’t talk?”

            Trish reaches over and grabs a fashion magazine from the nightstand. At least the morons got her something to read. While Mona writes her response, Trish silently looks her over. She’s still covered with bruises and bandages are still on her arms. Her hair is a greasy and ratty mess, but it looks as though she’s tried to tame it down.

_No. I sound awful when I try. Not to mention it still hurts._

            Trish reads the message and starts reading her magazine. “I imagine so.” It would be a pain to try and have a conversation with her.

            Mona shakes the pad of paper to get her attention. _Do you know when they’ll let me take a shower? I smell disgusting._

            Trish shrugs. “When you can stand and walk on your own, I guess. Have you tried?”

            She shakes her head. Honestly, she isn’t sure if she can stand on her own. Mona still gets dizzy from time to time when she moves too quickly. But she gets even dizzier when she things about the crusted blood in her hair and on her skin.

            “Well, come on. We’ll test out your legs,” Trish says as she stands up. She pulls back Mona’s blankets. Her legs are well defined with strong thighs. Her feet, however, are not well taken care of: Trish is certain Mona has never had a pedicure in her life.

            Mona slowly swings her legs around to the side of the bed and rests her feet on the cold wood floor. She never did ask which one of the boys changed her into a pair of boxers and a football jersey. She doesn’t want to think about which one of them saw her completely naked. Trish grabs the back of Mona’s elbows and gives her a pull as Mona makes to stand. If the situation were different, she would laugh at the fact that her legs are shaking like Ariel’s in _The Little Mermaid._

            “Whoa there, Bambi. Easy.” She keeps her hands wrapped around Mona’s arms and waits for her to steady. “Do you hurt at all?”

            After a few moments of extreme concentration on her pain levels, Mona shakes her head no. It’s an odd transition from going from being in constant pain to realizing there is no pain from standing.

            “Okay, then we’re going to take some steps and see how you handle that,” Trish explains as she lets go of the dancer’s bruised elbows.

            Without hesitation, Mona starts to walk forward. She winces at the moment of stiff knee and hip joints. Her knees wobble once and she starts to fall to the side but manages to right herself. She smiles with Trish as she walks around the room.

            “Well look at that. Follow me then. The boys are out, so you don’t have to worry about anybody walking in on you. I’ll grab the bags you’ll need.” She walks over to the corner where she dropped them. “You’ve got some great clothes by the way. Some of them aren’t personally my style. I’m not a big fan of colors other than black and red.”

            The dark brunette gives a smile and a nod to signal her thanks. Slowly, like a new fawn, Mona follows Trish across the hall and into the bathroom. She feels like a turtle with three bum legs walking through molasses. Her mouth twists to the side and her lips purse in concentration as she walks. It’s a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other.

            There are a few skylights in the hallway: from the looks of it, it’s dark and stormy outside. There are at least five more rooms off the hallway: three on the right and two on the left (including her room(, and one door at the very end of the hall. The walls are a light gray color. Or they could be white and just very, very dirty. The floors are dark wood and in need of polishing. The nearest end of the hallway opens up into a great loft area with a wide staircase in the middle leading to the first floor. Several fans litter the ceiling over the first floor, along with a few more skylights.

            Trish opens the middle door on the right side of the hallway and opens it to reveal a terrifying bathroom. Mona gives a grimace at the state of it. _Why are men so disgusting?_ There’s facial hair left in the sink, dirty clothes piled in the corner, dirty toilet bowl, toothpaste covered mirror, spiders in the corners, something questionable growing in the trashcan.

            “I know. It’s not healthy, but it will get you clean. Or give you tetanus.”

            The blonde sets Mona’s bags down on the cleanest area of the floor. She takes out Mona’s shampoo and conditioner, smelling each before she sets it on the edge of the tub. Good stuff. It smells expensive. Even after not being washed for a while, Trish can tell her hair is long and thick. Trish leaves the bathroom and shuts the door quietly. She has some digging to do on this Matrem Mona mentioned.

            Mona bends over and turns the shower on. She’s avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. Afraid of what she’s going to look like, she fiddles with the temperature of the water. She keeps her back to the mirror as she starts undressing. Her muscles hurt with the extended activity. The bruises sing a torturous song the more she moves. It’s perplexing to her how she can put herself through rigorous training for ballet, yet now her muscles protest at basic movements. Gently, she takes the brace off of her wrist and grimaces at the bruising there.

            As cautiously as she can, she steps into the tub and under the spray. She hisses loudly when the warm water rushes over the cuts and bruises on her body. Minutes pass while she stands under the cascade of water before she reaches for her shampoo. With one hand she massages the thick goop into her scalp, whimpering in pain when she finds a giant knot on the back of her head. The familiar scent of her shampoo makes her feel more relaxed than she was when she woke up this morning. It smells like fruit and champagne and she picked it specifically for the way it smells. The fact that it makes her hair as soft as a bunny’s butt also helps.

            She rinses out the suds after a few minutes of getting the dirt, blood, and oil out of her hair. The conditioner takes a little more awkward finessing to get it on and through her curly locks. While it sets, she starts to examine her body. It doesn’t really look like hers anymore. It’s covered in abrasions, bruises, and marks. A frown works its way onto her face as she continues the processes of looking herself over. There’s a three-inch wide red mark starting from her bellybutton before it wraps around her left hip. She loses sight of it around the side of her body, but sees it trailing up her right side before it dips beneath her breast, then to her shoulder where it ends at her neck.

            Her hands scrub at it with soap, hoping it’s just dried blood, but it stays firmly in place. For the sake of her skin, she moves on. The water running off of her has a red tint as it swirls around the drain of the white tub. She shudders when she remembers how much she bled that night. Mercifully when she rises out her conditioner fifteen minutes later, the water runs clean.

            Getting out of the shower proves trickier than she first thought. The slick bottom of the shower proves to be a difficult obstacle course. Hesitantly, she leans over the edge, of the tub, grasps the sink, and uses it as a source of balance to step out of the shower. Showering certainly eased some of her aches and pains, not to mention it erased the spider-web feeling she had on her skin. She sighs and gently starts drying herself off, finding some spots more tender than others.

            The wet woman digs through her bags until she finds the clothes she’s looking for: her comfort clothes. The oversized white hooded sweatshirt smells like her apartment when she slips it over her head. Her pink ombre leggings are next. She bought the galaxy print as a joke, but they soon became her favorite pair that she owned. She also has them in light blue, mint, and purple. Call her a hipster. The pink fuzzy socks were not a joke. They were comfortable and warm as hell the day Satan fell. The embarrassment nearly kills her as she has to sit on the toilet to get the leggings and socks on.

            After standing rather awkwardly, she wipes condensation off of the mirror. She stares at her reflection with glazed over eyes. Something looks off, but she can’t quite put her finger on what. It’s not her hair, not her eyes. Oddly enough, it’s not the bruises. Eventually, she gives up on trying to figure out what it is exactly that isn’t right. Sighing, she draws her fingers to her hair and begins to braid it. Her grandmother used to braid her hair for her. It was something the both of them loved. There is no greater pleasure in this world than having someone brush or play with your hair.

            Out of the corner of her eye, something shiny catches her attention. There, in the bottom of her bag, is her grandmother’s rosary. Mona finishes her braid before she reaches down and picks up the rosary. She has never been very religious, not even when she was a child and made to go to Sunday school, but given the circumstances… She picks up the rosary and slips it around her neck. When her grandmother died, Mona had kept it to feel closer to her. Gran wore the piece of worship and forgiveness every day. She brought the cross up to her lips and pressed a kiss to it, thinking of her gran’s warm forehead.

            When she looks back into the mirror she lets out a rough scream. There, in the foggy mirror is Matrem, looking back at her and baring her teeth.

 

***

            Mona is certain she’s going to emit a shriek similar to a tea kettle. The frustration she’s feeling is nearly indescribable. Having so much to say, so much to get out, and not being able to do so is maddening. Once more she frantically writes down what she wants to say on her legal pad and thrusts it towards Dante, Nero, and Trish.

            _I am not crazy! I know what I saw damn it. It was NOT my reflection! It was hers. Her face was on MY body!!_

            Dante reads the message allowed and looks at the dark-skinned woman with a skeptical face. Trish nods sympathetically. If she didn’t believe her, she didn’t let on. Nero watches her with an impassive broodiness. He’s always brooding, always impassive, always a pain in the ass. Really, none of them seemed to believe what she saw. After all, she was traumatized, had hit her head several times, was scared, and had every reason to hallucinate what she saw in the mirror.

            Dante crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You need to stop screaming,” he says matter-of-factly, “She can’t hurt you if she’s not in front of you.”

            _That’s easy for you to say._

“That’s right,” he smiles cockily, “it is easy for me to say. Wanna know why? Because I still have my voice. Why? Because I haven’t screamed myself into losing it.”

            The ballerina glares at him. She wants nothing more than to punch him in his cocky little face. She’s so very tempted into doing it, that it would be worth the possibility of injuring herself in the process.

            _Well excuse me for screaming while in excruciating pain. Oh and seeing some terrifying things. I’ll be sure to be quiet next time._

            Nero cracks a small smirk at Dante. “The amount of sarcasm in her face and what she just wrote could kill you.” He sits forward and puts his elbows on his knees. “Look, that demon is not getting in this house. She would have to be some kind of moron to come in here.”

            _Oh. So I’m supposed to just push that totally logical fear that she can kill me aside, and not freak out when I SEE HER IN THE GOD DAMNED MIRROR!_

            Dante whistles at the harsh language. “She curses.”

            Trish rubs her forehead and sighs dramatically. “You two are making this _so_ much worse. She was attacked, tortured, and God knows what else happened to her. She is allowed to freak out.” She smiled at Mona’s thank you. “Maybe,” she directed her piercing gaze to Dante, “if Dante would get off his lazy ass and put up some protection spells on this place, or get someone else to do it, then she wouldn’t have a reason to freak out.”

            The older silver-haired fox flips Trish off when she calls him lazy. He isn’t lazy. He is a procrastinator. There is a difference. Not to mention he’s too cheap to pay anyone. But it’s hard to find a protection spell for something when you don’t know what it is.

            Mona watches the trio argue some more about what she saw and the protection spells. There is something she hasn’t told them. Something that is eating away at her. It wasn’t seeing Matrem that scared her. It was the fact that she was in Mona’s body, wearing her clothes, had her facial features. Only her eyes were pitch black and the veins on her face were pushed towards the surface of her skin and black. Mona was the demon. That’s what made her scream. She sits further back on the couch, pulling her legs up to her chest. With her head on her knees, she continues to watch them argue.

            Finally, Dante agrees to put up protections spells. On the premise that Nero does all the work. It doesn’t take Mona long to realize that Nero and Dante fight like brothers. She grabs a magazine off the coffee table and sneezes loudly when a cloud of dust flies up at the movement. Her nose wrinkles and she gently sets the magazine back down for the sake of her nose. Sneakily, she slides a note over to Trish.

            _Can you go out and get me these supplies? If I’m going to be staying here, this house will be clean. I can’t live like this._

            The other woman snickers and nods her head. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then Dante and Nero are Satan incarnate.

***

            Mona’s Gran always told her that movement was the best medicine for sore muscles. It keeps them loose and prevents them from getting stiff and tight. And as she cleans the house, she tells herself that she agrees with Gran. She tells herself she agrees with her even though her body screams at her to stop. Her muscles ache and protest with each movement she makes, but she can’t spend one more day in bed. She never could sit still before this, why change now? On top of that, there is an inch of dust on every surface that isn’t used, cobwebs two feet long, spider webs with dead and crunchy spiders, dried mud by the doors, and three inches of grim on the windows.

            She smacks Dante upside his head with a rolled up newspaper when he puts his muddy boots up on the desk she _just_ finished cleaning. He rubs the back of his head and looks up at her with a smile. Mona tries her best to give an intimidating glare, but instead, she winds up smiling. She lets out a huff and hands him a wet rag so he can wipe the mud off.

            “Are you going to ride my ass the whole time you’re here?” He wipes the desk off and then his boots. “Because I have to be honest here, I’d rather be the one doing the riding.”

            Mona rolls her eyes at his smirk and continues to clean. The kitchen takes the longest: there are pizza boxes piled up nearly to the ceiling, dirty dishes in the sink, empty boxes in the cupboard. She starts moving things aside and compressing boxes. A small high-pitched noise escapes her when a mouse leaps out of a cupboard and lands at her feet. She picks up her broom and gently shoos the mouse out of the back door. With a proud nod of her head, it runs off down the alley.

            She turns around, opens a large cabinet door, ready to put cereal boxes in it, when a rotting shrunken head falls out of the shelf and onto the counter. It spins like a top a few times before it stops and looks directly at her. Bits of it’s dried flesh are flaking off, it has a greenish hue in spots. The eyes are empty sockets with thread poking out from below and above the lid. Mona takes a sharp intake of breath, backs up, and smacks into the doorframe. Quickly, she bolts out of the kitchen, skids around the corner and runs over to Dante.

            “What is it, babe?” he asks her without looking up at her. His nose still firmly planted in a gun magazine.

            She grabs his big leather-clad hand and starts jerking him out of his seat. He stands up and lets her lead him through to the kitchen. She moves slowly, his feet almost catching the back of her heels. Part way, he lets go of her hand and draws his guns from his holsters. He touches her shoulder, and she moves behind him, fisting her hands in his jacket.

            When he sees nothing in the kitchen, he looks back at her. “What am I looking for, doll?”

            Mona points a long finger violently towards the shrunken head on the counter.

            “Bob!” Dante yells half in surprise. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

            To Mona’s great disgust, Dante walks over and picks up the shrunken head.

            “He’s harmless, Mona. Well… more so now that he’s a shrunken head. He was a real dick before. I’ll go put him up.”

            He pats her head as he walks by her and she makes a mental note to wash her hair again. Grimacing, she returns to cleaning the kitchen. It takes her what feels like hours. Her body has become pleasantly numb or accustomed to the aches. Either way, she’s grateful for the moment. After she dumps the dirty mop water, she fills the bucket full again and mixes in bleach and cleaner that Trish got her. Lavender Mountain. It smells pleasant, more lavender than mountain (whatever that smells like). The bleach promises that she can walk about barefoot without contracting some kind of flesh-eating bacteria.

            After moping the wide hallway, she finds herself trying to get a rather sticky door open. She pulls on it and it budges a few centimeters before slipping closed again. Her full mouth turns down into a confused frown. She pulls again, and again, and again. After about five minutes she stops, panting, and decides to give up on the door. Mona looks over the door slowly, studying the grain of wood. There’s a large splintered crack running from the top of the door and spider-webbing out towards the bottom. Her long fingers reached out and traced the trench in the door.

            “Curiosity killed the cat,” Nero’s voice drawls out from behind her.

            She jumps and spins around, her back hitting the door. Nero raises an eyebrow at her, his face unreadable other than the eyebrow. With an embarrassed smile, she shrugs her tense shoulders. _This is totally awkward._

            “Dinner is here,” he says after a few moments of awkward silence.

            Nero turns away from her, his strong legs taking him down the hallway. Mona follows him until it opens up into the living room. Three steaming pizza boxes sit on top of Dante’s desk. It smells divine. Her mouth waters and she swallows it down. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until she smelled the cheesy heaven in a box. Dante opens the box and starts dishing out slices onto plates. Mona’s brown eyes look at it: greasy, fat loaded, carbohydrate induced, extra cheesy mess. She takes the plate from Nero’s hand and licks her lips. She shouldn’t eat it. But she’s going to. The first bite is nearly orgasmic.

            Dante smiles at her and takes a bite out of his own slice. “That’s an adorable sound you just made. Have you never had pizza?”

            Mona’s grease covered fingers pick up the pencil in front of her. _My diet doesn’t exactly allow pizza. It’s been a few years since I’ve had it._

            Dante looks as though he’s about to cry. Mona smiles and takes another bite. She didn’t realize how badly she missed pizza. That’s a lie. She did realize how much she missed pizza. The diet of a ballerina is a hard thing. Before the night is out, Mona has three more slices and two beers. And it feels wonderful.


	4. Chapter 4

           Hello, lovelies. I have no excuse as for why I'm late with this. I'm just lazy. 

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            A few weeks later and Mona feels like she has been lying on the couch, looking up at the ceiling the entire time. Her computer is still at her apartment; her phone was busted the night of the attack. Her boss is no doubt pissed beyond all reason. And if that weren’t bad enough, Clara is probably being cast lead in Sleeping Beauty. The whole idea of it makes her twist her face into a sour expression. She deserved that role, she worked damn hard to get where she was in a world where the only skinny white girls were ballerinas.

            She glances over at Nero sleeping in a brown leather chair: his head is tipped back, his face turned up towards the ceiling. He looks peaceful when he’s sleeping, younger even. It’s odd really; for some reason, she thought he would have nightmares. She quickly scribbles a note out on her pad of paper, rips it, balls it up, and throws it in Nero’s lap. Without opening his eyes, he picks it up off his lap. His hands straighten it out before he brings it up in front of his face.

            “You want to go to your apartment and get things?” He gasps playfully and sits up. “You mean you’ll actually leave the house?”

            Mona glares at him, her face contorting into a look of impatience. Of course, she hasn’t wanted to leave. She’s terrified she’ll see Matrem again. The last time she went outside, she nearly died.

            “Alright,” he says standing up, “but we’ll have to make it quick.”

 

~

            Mona’s apartment sits back two blocks from the river. Her favorite view is from her bedroom: the water can be seen over the top of the buildings. On early mornings, she can see the fog roll in. Inside the building is eerily quiet and still. Even the Jacobs’ kids are silent. She lets Nero go first and takes cautious steps behind him. He climbs the stairs and she tries not to stare at his butt as she walks behind him.

            Her apartment was unnerving: the hallway is pitch black, with a strange muted light coming in at the end from the living room. And there’s a strange static charge in the air that makes Mona’s hair stand on end. Nero stiffens the minute he enters the hallway and she knows he can feel it too.

            “What’s wrong?” Nero asks as he watches her face look pained.

            “It doesn’t feel like my home anymore.”

            He pauses for a moment before he pushes further into the living room. “Make it quick. Grab what you need and let’s get the hell out of here.”

            She doesn’t argue with him. It’s almost as if something else has claimed her apartment in her absence. Pushing her fear and anxiety aside, she grabs a suitcase from the hall closet and starts throwing things inside: a picture of her grandmother, a photo album, eight books, laptop, cell phone, chargers, perfume, jewelry, a stuffed animal her mother bought for her before she died. She pushes that suitcase towards Nero and grabs another. She doesn’t bother to fold her clothes: it’s quicker to just throw them in. Quickly, she shoves in her leotards, tights, and a few pairs of pointe shoes. Nero throws her a questioning gaze, but Mona shakes her head; she’ll explain later when she isn’t so creeped out. Her grandmother’s quilt is the last thing she places in the suitcase before she zips it shut.

            Mona nods to Nero when she’s done and starts to walk out with a suitcase. She gets three steps away from him when he grabs her arm and jerks her backward and shoves her behind him. Cautiously, she peers around his body and nearly retches at the sight before her. Her hands clutched his jacket tightly.

            “Well, hello, _Mona._ ”

***

 

            It’s a man. Whom has clearly been dead for some time, standing in front of Mona and Nero, successfully blocking their escape. His jaw half hangs off of his face revealing sharp and pointed teeth like Patricia’s. The smell of burning flesh and rotted meat seeps out from his body and it makes Mona gag. Where his eyes should be are soulless black pits that look like they have been pecked clean by crows.

            Immediately, Nero pulls the gun out at his hip. The woman behind him is shaking uncontrollably. When the rotting corpse enters her living room more completely, she realizes how tall he is. At least seven feet tall. She whimpers Nero’s name and hates how weak she sounds. As soon as the ‘o’ escapes her, the corpse throws its head back and laughs. It sounds like water hitting a scalding hot pan before evaporating into the air.

            “Who are you?” Nero demands.

            The corpse smiles with decayed lips. “I am Sitri.” He moves his right hand to his chest and bows deeply, his left arm extending out to the side of him.

            Nero narrows his eyes as Sitri takes a few more steps into the room. He puts his right arm back and keeps Mona behind him as he turns in the room, making sure that Sitri is always at his front.

            “Hello, _Mona_. You are a pretty one, aren’t you? Oh, how I’d _love_ to rip into that soft, dark flesh of yours. I’m sure you bleed a pretty shade of red. I bet it tastes like Heaven.” He licks his lips slowly. “How I could make you scream, Mona. How I could make you moan. Better than he can, I assure you.” His laugh is cruel.

            Mona swallows hard and clenches her jaw. The way he says her name makes her skin crawl uncontrollably. It feels like–

            “Like spiders crawling on you, does it? How do you know there aren’t actually spiders crawling on you?” Sitri clicks his sharp nails together and smiles at Mona.

            She looks confused at him until he gestures for her to look down. When she does she screams and steps away from Nero. There are dozens of spiders crawling all over her arms and legs. She swipes at them furiously but they just keep coming. Nero keeps his eyes on Sitri, not willing to risk taking them off him. The rotting man laughs uncontrollably as Moan shrieks and screams.

            “I’m only playing, sweet Mona. They’re not real. They’re all up here,” he whispers and taps the side of his temple.

            Mona looks down again and all of the spiders are gone. Nero takes his hand off of his gun and claps sarcastically for Sitri.

            “Good job. You managed to do a parlor trick. Is that all you can do? Summon imaginary spiders?” Nero gasps, “Are you Satan’s jester boy?”

            “Parlor Trick!” Sitri’s voice gets six octaves higher and offense drips off of his question. “Parlor trick?”

            Mona stiffens and keeps behind Nero. It wasn’t just a parlor trick for her. They were real. She could feel them crawling all over her.

            Nero shrugs. “No need to get pissy about it. It’s a very good one. I’m sure you’ll score a lot of birthday parties.” He examines his nails in a bored fashion.

            “I will show you a parlor trick, boy,” he spits it in an accusation. Next, he looks at Mona, smiles so wide it rips the rotting flesh up to his ears.

            She tries desperately not to vomit at the side of it. Her hand covers her mouth and she backs up further away from him. Nero looks around the room for a way to get them both out of there safely and without taking down the entire building.

            “This one here is a _naughty_ one,” Sitri slithers as he points to Mona. “Oh, the things I could tell you about her! So many SEcretS this one has.” He circles the room, always facing Mona. “What shall I tell him, Mona? Shall I tell him about your childhood bed wetting problems?” He ponders for a moment. “No, not interesting enough. Let’s find something really _juicy_. How about that kiss you shared with your roommate in school? What was her name again… Oh yes, Maria. No, that’s not nearly good enough.”

            She listens to him with wide eyes. What else did he know?

            “Oh! There it is! Oh, how wonderful!” Sitri claps his hands enthusiastically. “The things this one thinks about you and your companion, Nero. Such _naughty_ things!” he giggles in pleasure before he continues, “Shall I tell him, Mona? Shall I tell him how you’ve thought about giving him a blowjob?” He turns and looks at Nero, “She’s thought about it sooo painfully often, Nero. I could count how many times she’s thought about crawling into your bed with you while you’re sleeping. And how she wishes you would just crawl into yours while you’re sitting there,” he reaches forward to touch Mona, but she jerks back, “watching her sleeping. Which is so incredibly sweet by the way. You trying to protect her from us. Being there to soothe her when she dreams of us.”

            “She’s thought about how your lips would feel on hers. How that interesting hand of your would feel on her quacking thighs,” Sitri watches Mona squirm as he humiliates her.

            In a flash, Nero draws his sword from his back and swings it in an arc in front of him. Sitri is caught off guard, giving Nero the advantage. Sitri’s severed head flies across the room in front of them, his cackling still echoing in the air. Mona falls to her hands and knees behind Nero. Her face burns red with humiliation. Of course, she found him attractive, who wouldn’t? But she had only ever entertained the notion of sleeping with him. Only brief and flittering little snippets of ‘what-ifs’.

            Nero wraps his hand around Mona’s upper arm and starts to pull her to her feet.

            “Don’t touch me,” she jerks her arm out of Nero’s grasp and stands, “don’t touch me.”

            Quickly, she grabs her purse off of her desk, where she left it the morning she was attacked.

            “I thought you wanted me to touch you.”

            Mona reaches out and slaps him before she can stop herself. Her hand stings sharply after it connects with the side of his face. Before tears can fall from her eyes, she quickly leaves her apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

            Mona can hear Nero yelling for her, but she keeps walking out of her building. Her main goal is to be as far from him as possible. Those were her thoughts. Those were her very private thoughts that she intended on keeping private. Her graceful hands wipe softly at the tears in her eyes. She didn’t ask for any of this. She doesn’t want any of this. Why her? And how did Sitri know about the kiss? No one knew about that but Maria. As far as Mona knew, Maria was living in Rome with her new wife and had never told anyone about it.

            Her arms wrap around her body as she continues to walk, her feet barely touching the pavement before she lifts them again. She’s never felt quite this alone in her entire life. People need people and right now, she needs people. She doesn’t bother wiping the tears from her eyes. There’s no one around her, so it hardly seems to matter.

            She keeps walking, twisting between buildings, dodging what few people come across her path. The autumn air whips around her skin, chilling her to the core. It looks like rain again. The sky rumbles with thunder and sends shivers all over Mona. She raises her brown eyes up from her feet. The ballet studio stands before her as a sanctuary. Her nose won’t stop running and she sniffles to try and get it under control. The doors are locked like she thought they would be, but she had to try. Looking around she makes sure no one is watching before she makes her way to the back of the building. The girl’s bathroom window was always unlocked for some reason.

            As swift as a jackrabbit on a hot skillet, Mona pushes the window open and pulls herself up onto the lip. She shimmies her way into the bathroom, careful she doesn’t fall flat on her face. The bathroom is cold and dark: it feels almost as if someone turned the heat off. Despite how cold it is, it’s not overly strange. The building is usually kept around 68 degrees because of how hot the studio rooms would get. Still, she shudders. She’s never been in the building when it was completely empty, or this quiet before. It’s so quiet she can hear the faucet dripping in one of the sinks. She pushes the bathroom door open and finds her way to an open studio room.

            She flips the lights on and sets her purse down on the wooden piano bench. She takes out her iPod and an extra pair of pointe shoes she always keeps in her purse. She hooks the iPod up to the dock on top of a console table. It opened to a soft piano sonata that was one of Mona’s favorites. She made the playlist to have something to warm up and practice to, instead of having to search for every song she wanted. She stretches for an hour before she wraps her toes and slips her pointe shoes on. She forgot just how much she missed having them on in the last few weeks.

            “The Pull” by Now Now slips softly over the speakers. It always amazes her how the body and muscles can remember movements better than she can, and if she just lets them, if she listens to them, then they’ll move for her. Mona rolls her neck as she dances, as far as she can in each direction. Her old ballet instructor told her it should be her signature move as a dancer. This song she takes it slow, letting her body ease into its rhythms. Parts of her ached at the stretch, still sore from her attack.

            By the time the next song comes on, a remix of “Radioactive” and “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark”, she’s ready to dancer harder and faster. Everything emotion she’s felt over the last few weeks comes rushing to the surface. She feels prideful at the completed, perfect, triple pirouette followed by a split leap. They’re two of the things in her dancing that she is expert at. As soon as she hits the ground again, she takes off spinning and stepping again.

            The longer she dances, the more her eyes want to close. It’s not a performance, so she decides to let them slip close. It helps her feel more distant from the current situation she finds herself in.

            After a time, a slower piano song flits over the speakers, and she struggles to slow her body down, to let go of the anger.  She opens her brown eyes to watch herself in the mirror; correcting her form when she needs to. It feels good to dance again, to throw herself into the movements until she can scarcely breathe.

            On her second spin, Mona catches Matrem standing still in a darkened corner of the room, her face twisted into a maniacal smile. Mona stumbles and finds herself falling to the wood floor, but before she smashes her face against the planks, she stops. A pair of black leather clad hands grip her arms tightly before pulling her backward into their owner’s chest. She jerks her head to the left and finds Dante looking down at her. She breathes heavily, her chest heaving against the fabric of her clothes. Concern fades from Dante’s face as she gives him a half smile.

            “Nice catch,” she chuckles.

            “I have my moments,” he says, “Unfortunately, I get the feeling you aren’t exactly my catch.” He sighs as he straightens and lets go of Mona’s arms.

            Quickly, she turns her face away to hide her blush, but she knows he can tell why she looked away. She lowers herself to the floor slowly where she starts to unlace the ribbon around her ankles. As subtly as she can, she looks up to the corner where she saw Matrem, but only shadows are there.

            Dante plops his large body down next to hers, his arms resting on his raised knees.

            “We’ve been looking for you, ya know,” he states, watching her out of the corner of his blue eyes.

            “I’ve not been gone that long.”

            “About three hours.”

            Mona’s head snaps up so she can look at Dante. “ _Three_ hours? That’s not even possible! I’ve only danced to like three songs.”

            Dante laughs and leans against the mirrored wall. “Actually, you danced to about thirty, while I was here. Beautifully, by the way. And that’s saying something coming from me. I’ve never cared for all that fancy ballet shit. But there was fire in yours.” He smiles. “I thought the floor was going to break.”

            “You watched me?” she asks as she slips her shoes off. She hisses when they pull away from her foot, revealing fresh blisters, and cuts around her toes: she needs to trim her nails down again.

            “Yeah, I did,” he confirms. “I didn’t see why I should stop you. Seemed like you needed a release,” he explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “Fuck, baby. Doesn’t that hurt?” He gestures to her abused feet.

            “A little, yeah. I’ve let my nails get long. And I’m out of practice. I’ll just soak them tonight in the tub and they’ll be fine. Thank you,” she adds, “for letting me dance. I did need it.” She scoots next to him and leans back against the mirrors. “So, why did you come and find me and not Nero? I figured he would have chased me down.”

            “I stopped him. I figured if he would have tracked you down, he probably would have killed you for running from him. Said you smacked him?” he questions her with a smirk on his face.

            “I did.”

            “What’d he do?”

            “He was being an asshole.”

            Dante laughs. “Seems like a good enough reason to me. Hell, sometimes I slap him just for the hell of it. It’s wonderful therapy,” he jests with a smile.

            He lifts his arm and puts it around her shoulders, pulling Mona closer to him. She rests her head on his chest and sighs. He feels nice against her, even though he’s nothing but muscle. Despite that, he feels almost like a teddy bear you get from the fair. And on top of that, he is unbelievably warm. He smells nice too, she thinks, like shoe polish, gunpowder, leather, and some kind of expensive after-shave. It’s a warm smell, like sweater weather. It reminded Mona of fall leaves, coffee on the front porch, a fire, warm apple cider, cold fingers, sweaters, fat fluffy cats with warm bellies.

            “Did I ever thank you?” she asks him quietly.

            “Thank me for?”

            “Saving me that night.”

            “I don’t remember. Maybe.” She feels him shrug under her.

            “Well, now I am. Thank you, Dante.”

            Dante leans down and kisses the top of her head. He can feel her falling asleep. She hasn’t been sleeping much, he knows. Not that he blames her. So quietly, he sits, letting her drift slowly off to sleep against his chest.

            “Sweet dreams, babe.”

~

            _“You danced so beautifully,” Dante croons._

_Mona smiles at him but notes that something is very much off about him._

_He pushes her forcefully backward, making her head smack into the brick. Mona yelps and starts to slide down the wall from dizziness. Dante grabs her roughly and hoists her back into a standing position._

_She screams._

_His once bright blue eyes are pitch black and bottomless._

_She kicks at his legs and hits at his face, but he doesn’t seem to feel any of it. His mouth twists into a sadistic smile and he digs his hands into her arms._

_“I’m sure you’d dance even more beautifully,” he whispers, leaning forward to lick from her jaw up to her temple, “covered in flames.”_

_She looks away from him, trying to find an escape, but instead, she finds Matrem. She approaches them slowly, her smile spreading across her face._

_“Dante, please!”_

_“Who says this is Dante?” he asks with a curious little tilt of his head._

_He leans in and smiles, his teeth turn into sharp daggers. Slowly, his jaw opens until it’s wide enough to swallow her whole._

~

            Mona awakes with a jerk and gasping for air. Sweat slides slowly down her face and neck, soaking her shirt. She scans the room for Nero or Dante, but the room is completely empty. From the light outside the curtains, Mona guesses it’s somewhere just before sunrise. She exits the room, making her way to the kitchen. Her mouth is dry and her throat feels like it’s on fire.

            The house is quiet, as it usually is. It used to make her nervous, but now she’s gotten accustomed to it. She had never before been in a house as quiet as Dante’s is. As quiet as she can, she descends the stairs and makes her way to the kitchen. Just as she’s about to reach the doorway a strange sound stops her in her tracks: a soft, repetitive, thudding noise echoes around her in the still room. She stops, her body paused halfway in a turn before she glides back around to confront the noise.

            For a moment, there’s nothing in the dark room but her and the sound. She stares, squinting her eyes in an attempt to strain them into seeing something. Then she catches it: something small is bouncing down the stairs. She thinks it’s a ball, but in the darkness, she can’t be certain. It hits the bottom step and bounces into the air, lands, and then begins to roll towards her. She backs up and watches it cautiously. About three feet from her, she realizes that it’s merely Bob.

            “Bob,” she sighs, “I thought Dante locked you up in the cabinet?” Mona asks the shrunken head as if it could answer her at any moment.

            Shaking her head, she turns around and makes her way into the kitchen to get a drink. The water is cool on her sore throat, but the liquid settles heavily in her stomach. She should eat something, but returning to sleep sounds to blissful to ignore. Mona refills the glass and takes it with her out of the kitchen.

            “It’s late. You should be in bed,” Dante says in a tone that verges on threatening.

            Mona gasps and drops the glass onto the floor where it shatters. She turns towards Dante’s desk, her body shaking. Why hadn’t she noticed him before?

            “Shit, Dante. You scared me,” she explains with a tremble in her voice.

            “Apologies. Why aren’t you in bed?” he asks her as he moves away from his desk.

            She watches him for a few seconds, swallowing before she answers him. “I had a nightmare.”

            Before she can continue, Dante interrupts her. “Well, I’m certain whatever dream me did, was not intentional.”

            Her blood runs cold. “I never said you were in the dream, Dante.”

            He smiles, his mouth twisting up in a way that was the definition of sinister.

            “Who says I’m Dante?”

            In seconds Dante has her on the floor. She’s not quite sure how it happened, only that one moment he was rushing his body at her like a wrecking ball, and the next she was on the floor. She couldn’t breathe, the force and weight of him took every ounce of air she had in her lungs and expelled it outwards. She scrambled, her legs kicking and twisting her body beneath him. He lost hold of her, only for a second, but it was enough. On her way to standing, she reached out and grabbed a piece of glass, hissing as it cut into her palm.

            She runs towards the stairs, making Nero’s room her sanctuary. The sounds of his body gliding across the floor behind her as he ran thundered in her ears. He can’t catch her. If he catches her, he will most certainly kill her. Or she will have to kill him. She doesn’t think she can kill him, let alone hurt him. He’s her friend.

            “Nero!” she screams as loudly as she can, her throat tightening up with the strain of it.

            Eventually, Dante will catch her, she knows this. Nero is her only chance of making it out alive. Her palm slices open a fraction more as the glass slides across her palm. He’s going to catch her; he’s going to slam into her at any moment. She slides as she twists her body to the right, rushing down the hallway with the jammed door. There’s a crash behind her and she wonders if Dante caught the bookshelf instead of her.

            “Nero!”

            Why wasn’t he answering her?

            Mona skids to a halt. There, at the end of the hallway, Dante stands tall with a smile on his full lips. She has no idea how he got there, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s blocking her escape.

            “Nero!” she cries with relief. “Thank God! Help!”

            Dante turns, ready to fight, and Mona takes her chance to flee. She doesn’t have long, maybe all of three seconds before he realizes Nero isn’t there. Her lungs are starting to burn and her hand is slick with blood. She has to make it back to the stairs though. At least in Nero’s room, she can go out through the fire escape.

            A chair comes flying from the hallway she just exited and slams into the wall beside her head. She keeps running, the flinch costing her several seconds. She has one foot on the stairs.

            It all happens in slow motion: Dante reaches forward and grabs her ankle, she falls forward, her jaw hits the edge of the step as she falls. Stars dance in front of her eyes and she takes a confused moment to praise Jesus that she didn’t bite her tongue in half. Dante rips her back down the stairs and flips her over harshly. His body straddles her hips and he wraps his large hand around her throat.

            “Dante, please.” She doesn’t beg him like he wants her to.

            She doesn’t want to hurt him.

            “Oh, that was a terrible beg, Mona.” He sneers and tightens his hand around her throat. “I’m going to have to teach you how to be–”

            Dante jerks above her, confusion spreading across his face while he looks at her. His hand lessens its grip and she takes a gasping breath in. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. It shouldn’t have come to this, she thinks. She whimpers and drives the shard of glass deeper into his stomach. He gasps above her, his hands moving to clutch at the long shard. Mona cries beneath him, the tears falling into the shells of her ears. She’s killed him, she’s killed her friend, the man who saved her, who took her in, who has done everything to keep her safe.

            “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

            Blood oozes out of the wound in Dante’s stomach and drips onto Mona.  He places a hand by her head when he begins to fall over her. Pain is starting to etch over his hard features. There’s something else there, something just behind his eyes that she doesn’t recognize.

            “She didn’t think you’d do it,” he gasped out in a half laugh.

            She looks at him, confusion wracking her face. She watches his eyes close briefly and his face twists in pain. Slowly, his eyes open and find hers in the pale dark of the room.

            “Mona? Mona, what…” he trails off as he looks down at his torso.

            Dante rolls himself off of her and onto his back beside her. He moans and clutches at the glass in his stomach. Mona scoots away from him as quickly as she can, not quite trusting him. His thick fingers wrap around the base of the glass and he jerks it from his stomach. She watches him for a few terrifying moments before he tosses it away from him, and presses his hand to his stomach. Blood still seeps between his fingers.

            Trish.

            Mona runs to the phone on Dante’s desk and punches the numbers in.

            “This had better be good, or so help you,” Trish grumbles into the phone after the sixth ring.

            “Trish,” Mona sobs out. “I stabbed Dante.”

            “What?” Her voice was more alert. “Mona, you did what?”

            “I stabbed Dante,” she stuttered out, “I had to! He was trying to kill me and… and. Trish, please help. He’s bleeding so much, I don’t know what to do.”

            “I’ll be there in two minutes. Keep pressure on it.”

            The line goes dead and Mona looks back at Dante. He lies on his back, his eyes closed, and a grimace on his face. Carefully, Mona walks back over to him. Each step is placed with hesitation. When she reaches him, she kneels down next to him and places her hands on top of his. She winces at his groan when she presses down firmly.

            “God, babe,” he gasps. “I know I can be a dick sometimes, but did you have to stab me?” He tries and fails to smile at her.

            “You don’t know why I stabbed you?” she asks after moments of confused realization.

            “Got m-me.”

            “Dante, you,” she pauses, “you were trying to kill me. You attacked me.”

            He looks at her. “No, I didn’t.”

            “You did. I had a dream that you attacked me. Only it wasn’t really you. You asked me why I was up and I told you I had a nightmare. You smiled and apologized for whatever dream you did. I said I didn’t say you were in it, Dante.” She pressed harder on the wound. “And you said, ‘Who says I’m Dante?’ And then you attacked me.”

            He grows very quiet. He says nothing for a few moments, Scaring Mona half to death. Finally, he turns his blue eyes towards her. He starts to say something to her, getting her name out, but Trish throws the front doors open. Mona jumps and turns her head to look. Within seconds Trish is on the other side of Dante, ripping his shirt open.

            “Where is Nero?” she demands.

            Dante lets out a yelp when Trish shoves on his stomach. “You bitch,” he gasps. “He’s out. He went to go cool off. He sai– Fuck!”

            Mona watches as Trish shoves her fingers into the wound. She nearly vomits and turns her head away. When she looks back, Trish has pulled out a broken sliver of glass.

            “You’ll live,” she confirms. “You wouldn’t have though if she would have just gotten you a little deeper. Mona,” she says as she snaps her fingers to get her attention, “go into the bathroom down the hall and bring me the blue box in the corner.”

            “I didn’t do anything.”

            “Bullshit. That girl called me terrified. She said you attacked her, Dante. Mona is not the kind of girl to lie about something like that. You did something. Now tell me, or I’ll shove my fingers in your stomach again,” she threatens, narrowing her eyes and raising her hand.

            “I’m telling you, I did nothing. I had a pizza, drank some beer, ate a strawberry sundae, went to the strip club, and then came back here and went to sleep. Mona was in her bed, I didn’t want to wake her. When I woke up, I was on top of Mona and had a piece of glass sticking out of my stomach.” He groans. “God, I forgot how much stomach wounds hurt.”

            “Don’t be such a baby,” Trish sighs.

            It takes Trish an hour and a half to get Dante, and Mona’s hand patched up. After she was finished with Dante, she helped him upstairs to his room and then came back to finish up Mona. She sat down, face-to-face, with Mona’s hand in Trish’s lap.

            “Will he be okay?” Mona asks after a brief silence.

            “He’ll be fine. He’s stronger than you think. Kind of like a cockroach. If you would have shoved that in any further, he’d be in trouble. He likes people to think he’s invincible, but he can get hurt. And, as much as it pains him to acknowledge it, he can be killed.”

            “Does he remember anything?”

            “No. He did his usual routine after he put you to bed. He doesn’t remember anything.” She wrapped gauze around her hand. “Personally, I think he got something from one of those strippers. No, not a disease. I think one of them was paid to put something in his drink. I can’t be sure though. I’ll stop by tomorrow and ask around.”

            Nero walks through the door, jacket thrown over his shoulder like he hasn’t a care in the world. He stops suddenly and looks around the room. His eyes freeze on Mona and her injured hand. Before he can ask her what happened, Mona stands up and storms over to him. She looks at him for a few seconds before she slaps him hard across his face.

            Trish smirks and stands up.

            “What the hell–”

            “Where were you?” Mona screams at him.

            He rubs his face where she hit him. “I was out! What happened?”

            “I was nearly killed by Dante! And I nearly killed him defending myself, because you weren’t here!” She shoved at him, remembering his smug face. “I needed your help, Nero! I screamed for you and you weren’t here. I could have killed him, Nero! He could have killed me!”

            Mona’s entire body shakes with rage. Without giving him a chance to respond to her, she storms off upstairs.

            Trish whistles and starts to clean up the first aid kit.

            Mona wants to go back downstairs and beat the shit out of him, but her hand is throbbing. And she knows it isn’t entirely his fault and she shouldn’t blame him. Right now though she is incredibly angry. She pauses briefly at Dante’s door and considers going in. Instead, she turns on her heels and enters her room instead. She decides at that moment to unpack with reckless abandon.

            Two hours later the sun is streaming through her white curtains and she’s finished unpacking.

            The computer on her bed lures her to it and she gives in. The beloved startup noise fills her ears. Alas, normalcy. With a sense of dread, she opens up her email and sighs. Fingers type away as she responds to email after email: her teacher, her boss, her friends, her landlord. She writes all of them back, only with what they need to know, sparing all of the details. Immediately, she gets a response from the ballet manager, but she saves it until she’s finished writing everyone back.

            _Mona,_

_I’m so glad you’ve emailed me! Darling, I’ve been so worried about you! Clara told me you had been attacked? I’m so glad to hear you’re okay. Any time you’re ready, you can come back to the studio. We can’t wait to have you back. Auditions for Sleeping Beauty have not been held yet. Those will take place sometime next week and I encourage you to try out. In fact, I expect you to._

_But enough business. Darling, are you certain you’re alright? You know I think of you as a daughter and I worry about you. Ever since your Grand died I’ve seen a change in you. I only want for you to feel loved and to be looked after. Mo, if there is anything you need from me, please, do not hesitate to ask. I’m always here for you._

_Write back soon, dear._

_With warm thoughts,_

_Charlotte_

Mona wipes tears from her eyes as she finishes reading the letter. It was cruel of her to not contact Charlotte sooner. She had been nothing but kind and sweet to her. Mona shuts her computer and slides it away from her. She should write back to her, express her gratitude, but she no longer has the energy for it.

            She rolls to her side and wraps her arms around her stomach. In her entire life, she has never felt so alone, so broken down and cornered. Were they trying to break her down? Who are they exactly? Are they trying to weaken her? Because it’s working, she can feel herself growing weaker and less alert. Somewhere in her mind, she’s worried that she’ll give herself over to them willingly. Eventually, she’ll grow tired of fighting. A person can only fight for so long before they go gently into the dark.

            She misses her Gran. If she were here, she would take her warm brown hands and wrap them around Mona’s, and then kiss the tips of her fingers. She would take her into her yellow kitchen, make her a glass of warm milk with honey and vanilla, and sit her down in the window overlooking the garden. She would tell her to look to God, even though she knew Mona didn’t believe in one. She would say that didn’t matter to God, he still saw her, still loved her, and would never condemn her.

            Mona reaches across the bed and grabs her rosary off of the nightstand. She brings it to her lips and kisses it gently: it still felt warm. It always felt warm when Gran had it.

            Grand had told her that her mother, Mona’s great-grandmother, Abigail, was just a girl when she moved out to Arizona with her parents. She said that Abi worked day and night searching for stones in the Arizona land. She liked to feel their heat. One day, she said a young Navajo boy, Tsela, found Abi out in the desert looking for rocks. He took her by the hand and led her around the desert, picking up turquoise, raw blue opal, and peacock ore (which was really just chalcopyrite and bornite fused together). Abi especially like the peacock ore. She had told Gran that it looked like the stars where God lived and watched over them.

            Abi and Tsela grew close and eventually were married. They moved to the east coast as they always dreamed of. As a wedding gift, Tsela had the turquoise, opal, and ore shaped into rosary beads. When Gran returned to Arizona, she found quartz with lazulite in the desert. When she married her husband, Niyol, he had the stone carved into the shape of a cross and attached to the rosary. The original cross was melted down and made into Gran’s wedding band, which Mona wears now.

            Mona grasps the rosary tighter and feels tears run down her face and onto her pillow. Quietly, she whispers, “I don’t know what to do, Gran. I don’t know how long I can do this. I feel like I’m not strong enough for this. I know you would tell me to pray, Gran, but I don’t know how. Help me, Gran. Please, I’m so afraid.”

            Nero had quietly entered the room and stood in the doorway, listening to her plea. It broke his heart to hear her cry. And he is a jackass for behaving like he has. It shamed him to realize he hadn’t thought about how afraid she has to be. He lays down softly behind her and wraps his arms around her; a silent ‘I’m sorry.’ She rolls over in his arms to face him and he gives her an apologetic smile, holding her tighter to his chest. She hides her face and grips his shirt tightly in her hands.


	7. Chapter 7

            Mona wakes a few hours later, a haze fogging over her thoughts. Her face still hidden in Nero’s rising and falling chest. His warmth seeps from him, surrounding her in its desert. His arms are wrapped protectively around her, keeping her close to him. She carefully moves her head back so she can look up at him, finding him already awake.

            “I’m sorry,” he admits without shame. “For the way I treated you yesterday. For the way I have been treating you.”

            “Thank you,” she whispers, shocked. She didn’t peg Nero as a man who would apologize willingly. “And I’m sorry for blaming you. That wasn’t fair.”

            He nods and the two were quiet for some time.

            “I should go check on Dante,” she finally says. “I feel bad for stabbing him.”

            She tries to pull away from him, but he keeps her there with a smile.

            “I’m sure Dante is fine. He’s been stabbed before, several times in fact. He has that effect on people,” he explains.

            “Are you one of those people?”

            “I will neither admit or deny anything.”

            She shakes her head, smiling. Deciding that he will probably not let her go, Mona relaxes back into him. It felt nice having normal human contact. Recently the only time she’s been touched or held is when she’s being attacked. Except for the night Dante held her at the studio.

            “I really do need to go check on him,” she says after a few minutes of quiet bliss.

            “If you feel you must.”

            “I do,” she answers and untangles herself from him. “Besides, I’m still a little upset with you.” She picks up a sweatshirt and throws it over her head.

            “I apologized!”

            “You did,” she adds, slipping on a pair of flats, “but I’m still angry. You can make it up to me by going to the store and picking up the items on the list on your desk. The list I left on your desk two fucking days ago,” she says with a smile and narrowed eyes.

            “Alright, alright,” he sighs sitting up, “Just try not to stab Dante again. I know it’s hard, what with him being a jackass and all, but do try to resist the urge.”

            Mona shakes her head in amusement and walks across the hall to Dante’s room. She opens the door quietly and winces when it creaks back shut. Dante rests propped up in bed, magazines and a pizza box strewn across his lap. She leans against the door for a moment, taking the time to observe him. He’s nicely built: a strong chest and shoulders, arms well defined. His legs look even stronger. He would make a good dancer.

            “What,” he asks with an eyebrow raised, “are you smirking at there, hot stuff?”

            “You. You’re very well built.”

            “Why, thank you. I do t–”

            “You’d make a good ballet dancer.”

            Dante’s face snaps from smiles to stoic. “I am not a tutu-wearing leotard guy.”

            Mona rolls her eyes and sits on the edge of the bed. “Men do not wear the tutus. Besides, male dancers are incredibly strong. And women tend to love them. Not to mention they are incredibly disciplined and go through years of rigorous training and instruction. Some of them can actually go on pointe shoes, which is pretty incredible.” She stops for a minute and purses her lips. “Then again, I read an article about The Big Ballet and the girls weigh no less than like, 220 pounds each. And all of them can go up on pointe shoes! Which is just absolutely amazing! Do you know how much strength that takes? I’ve seen videos of them dancing and they are all so beautiful.”

            Dante listens to her ramble with his eyebrows still raised. He smiles at the ecstatic tone and enthusiastic arm movements.

            “Yeah,” he says when she’s finished, “I’m still not wearing the tights, doll.”

            “Too bad. You’d look hot in them.”

Dante tosses a magazine at her and she ducks to the side.

            “So, Trish has you confined to bed rest?”

            “Yes. The witch says I’m not allowed to move for another day. It’s truly killing me, not being able to work. Not being able to do anything but eat pizza and relax,” he says, feigning exasperation.

            “Oh, yes. I bet it’s just horrible.”

~

            When Nero walks in carrying bags and bags of groceries, Mona begins a simple routine. The headphones in her ears keep her from hearing him enter and he takes the time to observe her: her black halter leotard sits over a pair of neon blue tights with an x-ray over the top of them. The fuzzy socks are what have him smiling at her. A kind of sad softness crosses her features. The rosary around her neck moves as gracefully as she does. She reminds him of the wind.

            “So, you gonna fuck her with your eyes,” Dante asks from his desk, “or go put the groceries up?”   

            Nero quickly turns away from her and heads to the kitchen. “I thought you were supposed to be in bed, old man?” he snaps.

            “Eh,” he shrugs, “I got bored. Besides, I like watching her dance. Apparently, you like watching her too.” Dante smiles and crosses his feet at the ankles on his desk. “Though, I don’t think you were watching for the dancing.”

            “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

            Dante sighs. “It means, my sweet oblivious child, that you have the hots for her. Not that I blame you. Hell knows I’ve thought about her before. Nothing wrong with it,” he says holding up his hands at Nero’s glare. “It’s just a shame it took Sitri for you to figure that out.”

            Nero sends daggers at him and heads into the kitchen quickly. He does not ‘have the hots’ for Mona. She’s a friend: a friend that he cares about and doesn’t want to see anything happen to. He doesn’t have the hots for her. So he’s realized that she’s a sweet person who has never dealt with anything like this before. He had been inconsiderate to her feelings.

            Mona comes up behind him and puts her arms around his shoulders. “Did you get the ju– Oh, you did!” she yells happily as she pulls out the juice from one of the bags on the counter. “Thank you so much.”

            “You’re welcome.” He passes her a glass and continues to put away food. “I didn’t even know what half of this shit is. I had to ask people. There was a girl there that I just gave the list to and she got everything for me.”

            “You know for someone who fights demons and risks his life, you sure are helpless.”

            “I am not helpless,” he says defensively.

            Mona holds her fingers together in front of her. “Little bit. You couldn’t even buy the gro–” she breaks off in a squeal when Nero picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. “Nero!”

            Nero ignores her as he spins her around the kitchen. He smirks the more she squeals and smacks at him. Damn the groceries.

            Mona reaches down and pinches his butt hard between her fingers.

            “Ow, hey!”

            “Ooooh! Big touch demon killer cant take a pinch to the _ass_!” she shrieks the last word when he pinches her thigh.

            He lowers her further down his back, making her scream all the louder and wrap her arms around his middle.

            “Pull me back up!”

            His laugh echoes in the kitchen. She bends herself around his side and Nero lets go of her legs to hold her like a sack of potatoes.

            “Nero, knock it off!” she laughs.

            He carries her around the kitchen that way while he puts things away. She struggles futilely in his arm. Eventually, after five minutes or so, she gives up and just hangs there with a sigh.

            “When you two are done flirting with each other, I need you in here,” Dante yells into the kitchen.

            Mona looks up at Nero and the two lock eyes. Nero sets Mona down on her feet and backs away from her. She walks quickly out into the living room, leaving Nero to finish his chore.

            “We weren’t flirting,” Mona defends herself.

            “You were and it was disgusting.” Dante sets his magazine down. “Trish here,” he gestures to her across the room, “found out what happened.”

            Trish smiles knowingly at Mona. She blushes and looks away from the brunette.

            “Turns out, someone drugged Dante. Bunny, her name is. Someone came to Bunny before work, gave her give grand to slip a pill into Dante’s beer before the ‘show’. She doesn’t know who it was, or what it was she gave him.” She looked at Dante in a ‘you should have known better’ way. “My guess is it was something that weakened him enough for something to latch itself onto him, taking control of him for only a moment.”

            “It’s never been done before,” Dante says with a scowl.

            “No,” Nero states, dropping his body onto the couch, “but we’ve never exactly dealt with anything like this before.”

            “Oh, that’s very comforting,” Mona grumbles sarcastically.

            “Well, babe, it’s odd,” Dante says sitting up. “See, we’ve always dealt with these things pretty much face to face. Normally, when they want something, they just go full force at it,” he explains gently.

            Mona thinks quietly for a few minutes before she responds to them. “Now that you mention it, I’ve never actually seen Matrem. I mean, I’ve seen her, but… It’s always been in reflections, mirrors, or my dreams. I’ve never _physically_ seen her. It’s always been others trying to hurt me. Never her. Why?”

            Nero cocks his eyebrow and leans back into the couch. “Now, that is the question, isn’t it? Why is she getting others to do her dirty work?”

            Trish shrugs and crosses her legs, looking at Mona. “Well, she could be trying to wear us down. Maybe she thinks one of us will be killed and that would make it easier to get to you. Look what happened with Dante.”

            Dante shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. Mona gets very quiet and lost in her own thoughts. Why hasn’t Matrem shown her face in reality? Was she not strong enough? Maybe there was something keeping her from Mona?

            “They’re trying to break me,” she whispers quietly as the thought makes its appearance. All three of the hunters turn their gaze on her. “I need to go to the studio,” she says. “Rehearsal starts in a half hour and I need to be there.”

            Before any of them get the chance to objects, Mona grabs her purse and jacket, and walks out of the door. Dante nods to Nero, signaling him to go with her. He gets up and follows her out of the door.

            Trish lets a frown take residence up on her delicate features. The poor girl has had her entire life turned upside down in a matter of a day. It’s amazing that she’s done as well as she’s had, given everything that’s happened to her.

            Dante stands up from his desk and says solemnly, “Put the protections up again. Triple them this time. I’ve going to see a man about a dog.”

            He pulls his coat off of the rack and slips it around his body before he leaves through the back.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

            “People are going to think you’re stalking me, Nero.”

            Nero smiles and picks his gait up so he can walk beside Mona. She says nothing more as the two continue to walk side-by-side down the street. Nero lets Mona lead the way while he looks out for anything unusual. The sky looks like it could storm again tonight: it’s black and rolling with clouds, the air has a chilly bite to it. Mona tries her best not to spiral into an anxiety attack when she realizes it feels like the night Patricia attacked her. Her pace quickens without her noticing.

            Finally, the studio comes into view. She feels a bit more relaxed when she sees it. She’ll be able to get back to some kind of normalcy.

            “Nero, wait out here. You can’t come in the r–”

            “Mona!” Charlotte yells from behind Mona, her voice laced with concerned.

            Mona turns just in time to be wrapped up in a tight hug. Nero takes a step back where he waits by the sidelines.

            “Hello, Charlotte,” Mona whispers as she returns Charlotte’s tight hug. She pushes the tears back before they have a chance to fall. “I’m alright, I promise, I’m okay.”

            “What happened, darling? You just disappeared!” Charlotte pulls away so she can look into Mona’s face.

            “Well…It’s complicated. So, so, complicated.”

            “Mona was attacked by a stalker,” Nero cut in. “That’s why I’m here. They still haven’t caught him yet and we just need to keep her safe. But,” he added looking at Mona, “I won’t interfere with her dancing. You won’t even know I’m here.”

            He lies rather convincingly, she’ll give him that.

            Charlotte looks from Nero then back to Mona. “You have a stalker?”

            “I guess so.” Charlotte looks like she’s ready to cry again and Mona shushes her. “I’m alright. It’s alright. I promise. I’m being taken care of and it’s calmed down a lot. I’ll be coming to rehearsals regularly now.” She steeled her face when she thought about how much she had already lost professionally. “I’m not letting this affect my dancing anymore.”

            “I know. I just hope you have a dance prepared for tonight,” Charlotte says worriedly.

            “Tonight?”

            “Yes. Oh, tell me you got the emails. Tonight are the auditions for Sleeping Beauty. Tell me you had time to look over the choreography!” Charlotte’s eyes search Mona’s.

            “Of course!” Mona smiled and shook her head. “I forgot that was tonight. I decided that to stand out I’m going to have to use my own routine. Risky, but it could pay off.”

            “That is very risky, but I know you’ll be amazing! I’ll see you in there. And your friend is more than welcome to come and watch. As long as he’s quiet,” Charlotte explains, giving Nero her best ‘I’m serious’ face.

            Nero nods his understanding and watches Charlotte leave the room. Mona’s face goes from calm and smiling to panic in seconds. Nero quickly holds up his hands in a calm down signal. The last thing they needed was for her to have a panic attack.

            “Oh, my God. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking Christ. Oh, God. I can’t,” she took a gasping breath in. “What am I going to do?” Her voice raises a few octaves.

            “Just… go dance?”

            “Just,” she looks at him, “just dance? Just go dance?” She laughs in panic. “Nero, Clara has been preparing for months for this! I haven’t prepared at all! Not nearly enough!” she shouts in a hoarse whisper. “This isn’t something that you can just go in and wing. This is serious! This is my career, Nero. This is how I pay bills. What do I do?”

            Nero strides across the room to her and takes her face in his hands. “Hey,” he pulled her face to look at him, “you go in there and you do what you do best. I’ve seen you dance, Mona. You show them how strong you are, how totally graceful and powerful you are,” he instructs her calmly. “You go in there and dance as if it’s the only thing that will save you.”

            Mona nods and places her hands over his. Closing her eyes, she takes several deep breaths before leading them both out of the main room. The rehearsal room is buzzing with everyone’s excitement and nerves. Mona looks around and spots Clara stretching by the mirrors. She smiles and waves her hand at her and leads Nero over. Clara waves back, excitement written on her face.

            Nero watches Clara carefully. Something about her puts him off. He decides he won’t mention how shocked Clara had looked to see Mona. He wants to brush it off as her just being surprised to see Mona after not hearing from her for nearly a month. Still, he worries.

             “Mona, you’re here! I thought you had left or something,” Clara exclaims as she hops up and hugs Mona.

            “Well,” she says stepping away from her friend with a smile, “some serious stuff went down, but I’m fine now. Clara, this is Nero. Nero, Clara.”

            Clara smiles at Nero while she looks him up and down slowly. He smiles back politely and excuses himself to find an empty chair. Mona yells at him before he gets too far and tosses her bag to him.

            “He’s cute,” Clara observes as they lace their shoes up, “Got a nice ass.”

            “He’s decent,” Mona says curtly.

            “Are you two?” Clara asks cautiously.

            “No, no we’re not.”

            “Mind if I make a move on him?”

            Mona stands up from her place on the floor and starts stretching. “No, not at all.”

            Out of reflex, she searches the room to see where Nero found himself. He’s standing next to Charlotte, the two appearing to be deep in conversation. He was attractive. Nero was very attractive actually. Mona had noticed, of course, she had noticed. Clara asking about him just annoyed her. But she had never let a boy come between her and her career and she was not about to start now.

            Her mind rapidly fires off songs she could possibly dance to. No matter what she chooses, she’ll stick out since she isn’t doing anything from Sleeping Beauty. Clara rambles on beside her and Mona does her best to ignore her. She looks back to the mirror as she stretches and tries not to jump when she finds Matrem staring back at her. Mona jerks her head to Clara to see if she noticed, but she’s chatting to Rebecca as if nothing happened. Just to be sure, she turns to find Nero, but he’s still deep in conversation with Charlotte.

            “What do you want?” Mona asks quietly, trying to keep her voice strong.

            “I think that much would be obvious by now, dear,” Matrem laughs as she draws her nails down the other side of the mirror.

            “Why me?” Mona questions as she continues to stretch. She will not show fear. She will not show cowardice. Not anymore.

            “Because you…You have a great destiny before you.”

            When Mona snaps out of her stretch, she sees only her own reflection. Her heart pounds harshly against her chest. She turns around quickly and searches for Nero. He’s watching with concern. She gives him a weak smile and nods slightly, signaling him that she’s okay. Even if it’s a lie.  

            The auditions begin and she watches all the men go first. Ryan is the one who has the most shot at the male lead. He’s strong, graceful, and has the most experience out of all of them. The women go next, Clara volunteers first. She dances beautifully, which Mona knew of course, but it doesn’t mean she’s any less angry. She’s happy for Clara, of course, she’s one of her dearest friends. However, despite their closeness, they are both going out for the same part.

            Charlotte appears to be waiting to call Mona’s name last and she’s grateful for it. She watches as everyone goes before her. Most audition for the lead, but few danced for Carabosse or one of the fairies. Clara takes a seat beside her and wipes sweat from her brow. Mona continues to stretch, creating time for her to think up of what song she’s going to dance to. Eventually, she decides to wing it. She picks up her iPod and brings it to Rebecca.

            “Hey, will you put this on shuffle for me?” Mona passed it over to Rebecca’s open hand. “Thank you. Let’s hope it’s a good song, hm?”

            Rebecca nodded with surprise but got the iPod ready. Charlotte calls Mona’s name and she makes her way to the center of the floor. _Strong, graceful, powerful,_ she thinks to herself. She takes a deep breath and nods to Rebecca to start the music. _Please be something good, please be something good._

            Taking another deep breath, Mona closes her eyes and lets the music take over. _Powerful, graceful, strong._ Mona repeats the words like a mantra. _“Dance as if it’s the only thing that will save you.”_ In a way, it’s freeing to have nothing to lose. It means she can do whatever she wants to without fear of the repercussions. What else could she lose exactly? In the course of everything, she had forgotten to even study a routine. And here, on the floor, she left everything behind her. Her mind was clear and focused.

            She turns, glances in the mirrors and sees a flash of Matrem. She stumbles, works it into her movements before it can be construed as an accident. She finds Nero and focuses on him as she moves. He’s sitting on the edge of his chair, his hands gripping his crossed arms tightly. Everything she has ever wanted is on the line. Visions of the attack flood her memory. _No._ Mona pushes herself harder, ignoring the feeling she was watching her from behind the mirror. _I refuse to let some demon bitch that spawned from the depths of hell ruin this for me._

            When the music stops the room is quiet: no one claps, no one clears their throat, no one says anything. The only real sound Mona can hear is her own breathing and heartbeat. She find’s Nero again, his eyes hard and narrowed, his lips slightly opened, and his body is straight as a board. She leaves the floor, finds her way back to Rebecca to take her iPod back. Charlotte stands from her seat and smiles at all of them.

            “We have a lot of consideration ahead of us. So, please be patient and we will have the cast list up in a few days.” She looks at her watch and then back to their faces. “That will be all for today, I will see you all tomorrow.”

            Mona takes off her pointe shoes and walks over to Nero when she’s finished.

            “What did you think?” she asks, smiling broadly.

            “I thought you were good,” Nero answers, standing up slowly and passing Mona her bag.

            Mona furrows her brows at his tone of voice. He doesn’t exactly sound happy and his face mimics that. Nero is looking beyond her towards the mirrors. She turns to follow his gaze and sees Clara casting a beguiling smile to Nero.

            “You should ask her out.” Mona jerks her bag over her shoulder. “She likes you, thinks you have a nice butt.” She leaves him and walks out of the room quickly.

            Why should she care if he dates Clara? He doesn’t like her and she doesn’t like him. Sure, she finds him attractive, but that’s it. She rages out of the building and into the harsh rain the night brings with it. Let him have Clara. It’s not like Mona wants Nero anyways. She was jealous for no reason. No, no, she wasn’t even jealous. She was just annoyed that the one person he decides to make eyes at is her best friend. Okay, he’s a great guy. Most of the time. He’s a great guy half of the time. The other half he just infuriates her. He’s just so fucking dense!

            Sometimes it’s like he doesn’t even consider her feelings about anything. He’s insensitive and indifferent. God, and the way he looks at her sometimes, like he doesn’t really see _her._ It’s like he just looks right through her. On top of all that, there was that whole thing with the demon in her apartment that said all those things about the two of them.

            A hand grips her upper arm tightly and jerks her backward into a broad chest.

            “Christ, Mona!” Nero hisses out and makes a rude gesture to the car as it honks. “Will you watch where you’re going! Dante’ll have my ass if you get picked off by a car.”

            Mona looks from the street back into Nero’s face and her anger spikes again. There, on his cheek, is the perfect imprint of Clara’s lipstick. She wrenches her arm out of his grasp and storms off across the street.

            “I don’t even get a thank you?” Nero yells out behind her.

            She flips him off and keeps walking back to Dante’s.

            “You want to tell me why you just turned into Emily Rose?” Nero asks from beside her.

            She wasn’t even sure when he got there, but they were already several blocks away from the studio.

            “Oh! Exorcist jokes! Oh, because I find those so fucking hilarious. I’m sure Dante would too!” The ballerina throws her hands into the air as she keeps walking.

            “He would actually,” he defends himself, “He has a sense of humor.”

            “Well, I’m not fucking Dante!”

            “I would hope you’re not fucking him.” Nero has the gall to laugh at her.

            Mona stops dead in her tracks and slowly turns to look at him. She can tell he’s trying his hardest to suppress the smile working its way across his full lips. He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

            “You are just a giant fucking fuck-bucket!”

            “Why are you so angry with me?” he asks, genuinely curious.

            “Really?” She cocks her hip out to the side. “Why am I angry with you? Okay, fine,” she starts when he nods his head. “I’m angry with you because I just danced my fucking ass off and you couldn’t even convincingly tell me I did a good job! And then! And then, you and Clara! Flirting to beat the band.”

            “Woah, woah, woah. I did not flirt with Clara.”

            “Really? Then why do you have her lips on your cheek?” She watched him touch his cheek and then wince. “You were fucking her with your eyes, Nero. Don’t even try to deny it. You saw how happy I was after that dance and you just…Jesus, Nero you didn’t even try to act happy for me. No. No, you decided it wasn’t worth your effort. And on top of that, you flirted with Clara in front of me.” She watches him watch her for several moments before she sighs. “Just stay away from me right now.”


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Devil May Cry was in view, it had stopped raining. Now, there was a sharp chill in the air that made her shiver. Nero was still walking behind her, but she barely heard him. She almost regrets yelling at him. Almost. The only reason she felt even a modicum of guilt was because she knew that she just took out half of her anger on him. She pushes the door to the shop open, the familiar groan gives her some comfort.

            “Where’s Dante?” Mona asks when she sees Trish in his chair.

            “Said something about seeing a man about a dog,” Trish says while she looks up. “You’re both wet.”

            “It was raining,” Nero grumbles, slamming the door shut as he comes in behind Mona.

            Mona refuses to look at him or even in his general direction. Trish watches the two through her narrowed eyes before uncrossing her legs from the top of the desk. The thud heavily when she drops them to the floor.

            “I’m going to take a shower,” Mona says before Trish can speak. “Will you send Dante up when he gets in please?” Before Trish can corner her, she heads up the stairs.

            Nero, who wasn’t paying attention before, quickly snaps his head up to watch Mona walk up the stairs. Of course, Trish smiles and says she will. Trish watches and waits until Mona is in the bathroom with the door shut before she turns on Nero with a snarl.

            “You, sir, have done something to her. Explain yourself and I _might_ be able to help you fix it.”

            “I didn’t do any–”

            Trish snaps her hand out and smacks him on the back of the head. “Bullshit,” she hisses.

            “Apparently,” Nero snaps back, “I was flirting with her–” Trish nails him again. “Alright! Fine! I was flirting with her friend. But only a little bit!” He held his hands up before she could hit him again. “I wanted to get closer to her to get more information on Mona. I don’t think she’s always honest with us. Don’t give me that face. Oh,” he added, “and apparently I wasn’t excited enough that she did well on her audition.”

            Trish heaves a deep angry sigh and crosses her arms. “I should slap you again for being so stupid. You _never_ flirt with a girl’s friend. Ever. That’s an unwritten rule, you insensitive swine. And you always act like Dante died when something exciting happens to someone! I don’t care if it’s the most insignificant shit the in the world. You act enthused. You owe her an apology.”

            “I owe _her_ an _apology_?”

            “Yes!” She smacks him again. “You owe her a big one!”  She grumbles walking away from Nero. “Bigger dunce than Dante. And that’s saying something.”

~

            Upstairs Mona turns the water on to nearly scalding before she turns from the bath and takes her hair down. She untwists it from the bun on top of her head, sighing when it’s finally free and falls down her back. Maybe she’ll even put a hair mask on tonight. Her head spins for a moment and she reaches out to catch herself on the counter. Hungry. She has to just be hungry.

            Slowly, she begins to undress in the steam filled bathroom. Her muscles ache more than they usually do after a practice. She’s only ever been this sore when she was first dancing. When she looks down at her feet she grimaces: she’ll need to cut her nails soon or there’ll be hell to pay later. She’s down to her underwear when the door flies open.

            “Oh! Sor– What the hell is that?” Dante asks over Mona’s scream.

            She tries to cover herself, shouting at him to beat it, but he comes in and shuts the door.

            “Dante! I’m in my underwear!” She shouts and backs away from him.

            “Stop moving!” he snaps harshly.

            She jerks to a stop at his tone and stops all her movements. Dante finishes crossing the tiny room and grabs her arm. With a swallow, she lets him move them from across her body. She can feel the heat rising on her cheeks the more he looks at her. The only thing she sees on his face is confusion and worry. Gently, he reaches his hand out and traces lightly over her stomach.

            “Dante, I…” she whispers.

            “I’m not going to hurt you. Or sleep with you,” he assures her. “You’ll know when I’m trying to do either.” He looks back up into her face. “When did you start getting these?”

            “Getting what?” she asks, looking down to where his hand is.

            Fear takes root as soon as she sees dark patterns starting to poke through her skin. They start on her left him, coil around her back and her right hip, it circles her belly button, then wraps under her breasts, back around her back, comes up over her right shoulder, and then travels down to her wrist where it stops.

            “What… Dante, what is this?”

            “I don’t know, babe. Turn around for him,” he answers gently.

            Mona turns and places a hand over her mouth. The markings are almost black and look strangely like snakeskin. Panic is rising in her throat, making her sick. Dante’s hands are warm on her back while he pushes firmly against her, pulling her skin this way and that, trying to figure the marks out. It’s almost too much. His fingers are suddenly too cold on her flesh, too rough, they hurt.

            Before Dante can react, Mona spins on him and slams her closed fist against the mirror on the wall. It shatters, pieces falling to the floor and on the sink. Swifter than he could have imagined, Mona raises her hands and shoves him. He grunts and goes flying through the door and into the hall. Nero and Trish yell out to him downstairs. Slowly, keeping an eye on the girl in front of him, he raises up. Her hand is dripping blood on to the floor and her body is crouched over in a non-human way. Her breathing is raspy and heavy, something not natural.

            “Mona?” He walks carefully back into the room. “Mona, can you hear me?”

            As soon as his foot crosses the threshold of the bathroom, Mona’s head snaps up violently. Dante swallows and stiffens when he sees her eyes flash from their normal honey color to pitch black.

            “Don’t you fucking touch me, you filthy half-breed!” she screams at him in a voice that doesn’t belong to her. “I know you, _Dante._ You are not worthy enough to touch me! How dare you even assume your hands are fit to hold me.” She smiles sadistically and twists her head to the side. “I’m going to enjoy watching you _burn_.”

            For once in his life, Dante feels like prey. The feeling pisses him off. She watches him with those black eyes a little longer before she turns away from him to look in the mirror. She smiles and trails her hands down her body. Seizing his opportunity, he throws himself at her and locks his arms around hers, pinning them to her side. The scream that comes out of her mouth is unholy in its pitch and volume. Dante wants so badly to let go and cover his ears, but he holds on, struggling to keep her in his grasp. Nero and Trish skid to a stop outside the door.

            As quickly as her screaming started, it stops. Her head drops back to his shoulder and a collective feeling of relief washes over them. Dante shifts her in his arms so he can look at her. She’s looking up at him with her big, normal, honey eyes. Mona smiles sweetly at him, straining up to his face.

            “Sweet Dante, always saving me,” she sighs and her body relaxes.

            Mona wriggles one of her arms from his loose grip. She strokes the side of his face gently. She feels like fire against his skin. His eyes soften when she looks up at him. Her body starts grinding and rubbing against him and he stiffens.

            “Don’t heroes normally get a reward?” she drawls huskily in his ear.

            Before Dante can answer, can react, she’s pressing her lips against his. She trails her tongue over his lips, gliding against the seam of them. Her hand moves down his chest, her nails scratching at him. He can’t help the shudder that runs through him. She turns in his arms, grinds her hips against his. Dante growls low in his throat. She bites his lips before she kisses him again.

            Nero watches behind them with a clenched jaw and clenched fists. He watches her tongue slide into Dante’s mouth. He watches still as Mona opens her eyes and finds him, pins him in her gaze.

            Dante grips Mona’s wrist in his hand. “I really wish,” he says smiling, pulling her hand off of his gun, “that you would stop trying to kill me.”

            In seconds Mona’s face goes from smiling to snarling. She screams again, threatening to break windows. Nero falls back with the force of it. He covers his ears and looks back up at Dante.

            “Nero!” Dante quickly wraps his arms around her. “Get me something to tie her hands with!” he screams the order. “Nero! Now before she hurts herself!”

            “Or us!” Trish yells.

            Nero nods and scrambles up to run downstairs. Mona drops limply against Dante, her body stilling. The young hunter pauses briefly. Dante never relaxes his hold. Instead, he watches and waits for something to happen. Slowly, she stirs in his arms.

            “Dante?” she whispers her question with a hoarse voice. “What…”

            “I think we’re–”  

            They watch in horror as blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth and she begins to seize.

            “Nero, get the car!” Dante barks out sharply.

 He lays Mona down on the floor on her side. Blood continues to ooze out of her mouth. Anger takes root in him: God help the next demon he comes across. After a few moments, Mona stops and lays still as stone. Wasting no time, he gently picks her up and bolts past Trish. He feels like he flies down the stairs.

            Nero is already there waiting for him outside. He honks the horn repeatedly, trying to get Dante to hurry faster than he is. When the older man steps out into the night, Nero hops in the back and holds himself open for Mona. Grabbing her from Dante’s outstretched arms, he feels a pang of guilt. He was an asshole tonight. He was and now he wouldn’t get the chance to tell her why.

            Dante jumps over the driver's side door of the convertible. There’s no hesitation before he puts his foot to the pedal. It slams all the way to the floor and the tires squeal. They fly by cars and people on the street, but it’s as if no one notices. Or these people are so used to catastrophe they don’t bother to look up anymore.

            “Where are we going?” Nero shouts, keeping a firm hold on the body stretched out on the seat.

            “To see Doge.” Dante turns another corner sharply.

            Nero hangs on to the back of the seat to keep them careening across the car. Mona’s small shudders have finally stopped. No one in the car breathes a sigh of relief. Whatever it was that just happened to Mona, took a serious toll on her. Nero takes the time to think back on the day. There had to be something he missed, some kind of warning maybe. What was it? What was it that he missed?

            He wiped the blood from her face.

            “Dante?” No answer. “Dante!”

            “What?” he snaps back. He doesn’t have time to answer pointless questions. He has to pay attention, has to get them there in one piece.

            “She’s not breathing.”


End file.
